THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BY 


WILLIAM    WINTER 


*  In  the  reproof  of  chance 
Lies  the  true  proof  of  men** 

— Shakespeare, 


NEW-YORK 
GEORGE    J.    COOMBES 

No.  5   EAST   SEVENTEENTH    STREET 
MDCCCLXXXV 


HENRY    IRVING 


'A    -mi^'i1   '     '^    ' 


fmlli  J 


\    /'  ,  .-*• 

1 


HENRY   IRVING 


BY 


WILLIAM    WINTER 


"In  the  reproof  of  chance 
Lies  the  true  proof  of  men" 

— Sh  a  kespea  re. 


NEW-YORK 
GEORGE    J.    COOMBES 

No.  5   EAST   SEVENTEENTH    STREET 
MDCCCLXXXV 


Copyright,  1S85, 

by 

William  Winter. 


TO 

THE     GARRICK     CLUB,     OF     LONDON, 

THIS    BRIEF    HISTORY    AND    SLIGHT    MEMORIAL    OF    A 

COMRADE'S    TRIUMPHS    IN    A    FOREIGN    LAND 

IS      RESPECTFULLY      DEDICATED 

BY     THE     AUTHOR. 


TK3  *TRJ£  ARTS 


PREFACE. 

ZyHIS  book  is  designed  to  be  a  Record  of  Henry 
Irving 's  professional  career  upon  the  New -York 
stage  and  a  Study  of  his  Acting.  The  sketches  that 
compose  it  and  that  are  now  brought  together  in  a  con- 
densed and  carefully  revised  form  were  written  by  me 
in  the  New -York  Tribune  in  the  performance  of  a  liter- 
ary duty,  which  also  was  a  pleasure.  The  motive  that 
prompted  them  was  my  wish  to  form  and  suitably  to 
express  a  thoughtful  and  useful  estimate  of  the  art  of  a 
great  and  famous  actor,  whose  advent  in  America 
would  mark  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  our  stage  and  be 
attended  with  important  and  incessant  consequences. 
This  object  might  have  been,  by  other  hands,  more  ably 
pursued  and  more  thoroughly  accomplished ;  but  at 
least  it  has  been  sought  with  careful  diligence  and 
active  sympathy.  The  Record  is  accurate:  the  Study 
is  earnest :  and  although  the  manner  of  both  be  some- 
what desultory  I  yet  venture  to  indulge  the  hope  that 
this  book  will  be  accepted  as  a  serviceable  addition  to 
the  dramatic  chronicle  of  our  time,  and  as  a  well-meatit 
and  well-deserved  tribute  to  an  extraordinary  man. 
The  chapter  on  the  Influence  of  the  Stage  was  written  by 
me  in  the  North  American  Review,  and  it  is  introduced 
here  as,  perhaps,  an  appropriate  statement  of  the  rank 
and  power  of  the  institution  to  which  this  actor  has  given 
such  faithful,  honourable,  and  beneficent  service. 

New -York,  February  /6,  iSSj.  W.   W. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 
I.  Welcome i 

II.  The  First  Night 3 

III.  The  Golden  Age  of  Acting 13 

IV.  Charles  the  First 19 

V.  Louis  the  Eleventh 26 

VI.  Shylock  32 

VII.  Discursive  Impressions 37 

VIII.  Lesurques  and  Dubosc 42 

IX.  The  Belle's  Stratagem 49 

X.  Sources  of  Strength 53 

XI.  Much  Ado  about  Nothing 59 

XII.  Purpose  in  Acting 68 

XIII.  The  Return  Wave 73 

XIV.  Poetry  of  Stage  Effect  78 

XV.  Twelfth  Night 81 

XVI.  Hamlet 84 

XVII.  Closing  Scenes 97 

XVIII.  The  Influence  of  the  Stage  102 

XIX.  Farewell "5 

XX.  Appendix "9 


"  Nay  his  Honours  are  a  great  part  of  the  Honour  of  the 
Times ;  when  by  this  means  he  is  grown  to  Active  Men 
an  Example ;  to  the  Sloathful  a  Spur;  to  the  Envious  a 
Punishment." — Ben  Jonson's  Timber. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Portrait  of  Henry  Irving Frontispiece 

Portrait  of  Ellen  Terry Facing  page  59 


WELCOME. 


TF  we  could  win  from  Shakespeare's  river 
■*-     The  music  of  its  murmuring  flow, 
With  all  the  wild-bird  notes  that  quiver 

Where  Avon's  scarlet  meadows  glow; 
If  with  our  joy  could  blend,  at  meeting, 

The  love  that  lately  grieved  to  part, 
Ah,  then,  indeed,  our  song  of  greeting 

Might  find  an  echo  in  his  heart. 


II 
But  since  we  cannot,  in  our  singing, 

That  gladness  and  that  love  entwine, 
At  least  we'll  set  our  blue-bells  ringing, 

And  he  shall  hear  our  whispering  pine 
And  these  shall  breathe  a  welcome  royal, 

In  accents  tender,  sweet,  and  kind, 
From  lips  as  fond  and  hearts  as  loyal 

As  any  that  he  left  behind. 


II 


THE   FIRST   NIGHT. 


OCTOBER  30th,  1883.  — Mr.  Irving  is  a  novelty, 
but  he  is  not  a  stranger.  Hundreds  of  Americans 
have  seen  his  performances  when  he  was  acting  at  his 
own  theatre  in  London,  and  thoughtful  observers, 
whose  duty  it  has  been  within  the  last  ten  years  to 
consider  and  record  the  reciprocal  influences  of  the 
stage  and  society,  have  naturally  been  compelled  to 
take  into  their  account  the  originality,  force,  charm, 
and  commanding  success  of  this  remarkable  actor. 
Wherever,  in  the  intellectual  world,  an  earnest  and 
devoted  spirit  is  steadfastly  at  work,  no  matter  what 
may  be  its  line  of  thought  or  its  vehicle  of  expression, 
a  source  of  power  is  soon  established,  which  makes 
itself  felt,  through  either  sympathy  or  antipathy,  in 
every  fibre  of  the  mental  experience  of  the  age.  Such 
a  spirit  has  animated  Mr.  Irving.  He  is  a  man  thor- 
oughly in  earnest,  a  thinker,  a  writer,  a  manager,  a 
representative  leader  of  the  dramatic  art.  He  has 
placed  himself  in  the  capital  city  of  the  world,  and 
there  has  gathered  into  his  hands  all  the  cords  that 
work  the  complex  machinery  of  the  contemporary  stage. 


HENRY  IRVING. 


It  was  inevitable  that  the  influence  of  such  a  man  should 
be  recognised  in  America  as  well  as  in  Europe;  that 
his  history  should  become  known  to  this  people  ;  and 
that  a  wish  for  his  personal  presence  should  spring 
up  and  thrive  in  all  the  communities  of  the  western 
world. 

Mr.  Irving  has  been  an  actor  for  twenty-seven  years. 
Seventeen  of  them  he  has  passed  in  London,  and  during 
the  latter  half  of  that  time  he  has  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  actors  of  England.  No  man  could  have  had  such  a 
career,  exerted  such  an  influence,  or  attained  to  such  a 
position,  without  being  possessed  of  abilities  of  a  high 
order,  used  with  wisdom,  sincerity,  and  resolute  will. 
Mr.  Irving  possesses  these  abilities,  and  has  used  them 
in  this  way.  The  structure  of  his  renown,  accordingly, 
rests  upon  a  solid  foundation  of  worthy  achievement. 
Judgment  and  taste  differ  —  and  will  continue  to  differ 
—  in  defining  his  talents  and  estimating  his  rank. 
But  upon  one  point  opinions  are  agreed  :  he  is  a  thor- 
ough actor.  That  he  should  come  to  America  at  this 
time  is  in  the  natural  sequence  of  events.  His  coming 
has  been  sought,  from  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  for  the 
last  six  years.  He  has  been  invited,  again  and  again  — 
not  because  he  had  a  position  to  make,  but  because  his 
position  was  already  made.  It  ought,  accordingly,  to 
be  said,  at  the  outset,  that  Mr.  Irving  cannot  be  viewed 
as  an  actor  who  comes  here  upon  trial.  His  name  and 
fame  were  long  ago  established.  He  is  "  a  sensation  " 
in  America,  because  a  new-comer ;  but  he  is  not  a 
probationer,  and  he  is  not  a  surprise.  The  audience 
that  greeted  him  last  night  in  the  Star  Theatre, 
where  he  made  his  first  professional  appearance  in 
this  country,  received  him  in  this  spirit, —  hailing  him, 


HENRY  IRVING. 


not  as  a  stranger,  but  as  an  honoured  friend.  A  more 
brilliant  audience  has  not  been  seen,  and  a  more 
cordial  welcome  was  never  uttered. 

A  true  actor  can  indicate  his  powers  as  surely  — 
though  not  as  fully — in  a  character  of  melodrama 
as  in  a  character  of  poetic  tragedy.  The  elder 
Booth  once  electrified  an  audience  in  so  slight  a 
part  as  the  Second  Actor,  in  "  Hamlet."  Genius,  the 
French  philosopher  said,  is  a  question  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  Five  acts  of  Shakespeare  and  four  hours  of 
labour  are  not  indispensable  to  a  revelation  of  the 
divine  spark.  It  is  the  manner  in  which  a  thing  is 
done  that,  first  of  all,  declares  the  actor.  To  act  a 
great  part  greatly  is  to  reach  the  highest  success ;  but 
a  small  part  may  be  acted  in  a  great  manner,  and 
may  be  made  the  medium  of  a  wonderful  message. 
Mr.  Irving  might  have  come  before  us  in  "Hamlet." 
He  has  preferred  to  appear  as  Mathias,  in  the  drama 
of  "  The  Bells."  His  judgment  was  vindicated.  The 
part  is  one  that  utilises  all  disorganising  excitements, 
and  one  that  is  helped,  and  not  hurt,  by  Mr.  Irving's 
strangeness  and  by  all  his  peculiarities.  He  obviously 
felt  great  excitement,  and  so  did  his  audience;  but 
this  served  only  to  intensify  the  emotion  of  the  actor 
and  the  enjoyment  of  the  house. 

Mathias  is  a  murderer,  who  suffers,  and  he  may  be 
depicted  in  either  of  two  ways  —  as  suffering  from  the 
fear  and  dread  of  detection,  or  as  suffering  from  this 
cause  intensified  by  remorse.  Given  from  the  former 
point  of  view,  he  would  be  morally  and  spiritually 
superficial,  and  the  excellence  of  the  best  performance 
of  him  would  be  scarcely  more  than  technical  —  be- 
cause the   analysis,  not  of  a  human  being,  but  of  a 

2* 


HENRY  IRVING. 


grisly  fiend.  Given  from  trie  other  point  of  view,  he 
may  be  made  the  vehicle  for  profound,  subtle,  and 
pathetic  study  of  human  nature,  in  one  of  the  most 
terrible  forms  of  its  possible  experience,  tremulous 
under  those  haunting  influences  which,  to  the  imagi- 
nation, are  so  thrilling  and  so  splendid.  Remorse,  it 
should  be  remembered,  is  a  misery  that  is  only  possible 
to  goodness.  A  radically  wicked  person  is  incapable 
of  suffering  anything  but  physical  pain.  Iago  never 
suffers.  Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  who  has  committed  a 
partly  justifiable  homicide,  suffers  the  torments  of  the 
damned,  because  his  conscience  condemns  his  crime, 
and  because  he  dreads  that,  through  detection,  his 
honour  will  be  stained  before  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
The  analysis  of  his  torments  is  afflicting ;  yet  we  should 
watch  them  almost  as  we  watch  a  dying  reptile,  but 
that  his  inherent  goodness  renders  them  no  less  mourn- 
ful than  terrible.  All  spectacles  of  pain  and  wretched- 
ness are  distressing ;  but  the  quality  of  the  distress 
which  they  cause  is  determined  by  the  nature  of  the 
sufferer. 

Mathias  has  done  a  cruel  murder,  and  robbed  his 
victim,  and  prospered  by  the  spoils  of  his  crime ;  but 
the  consequences  of  his  crime  have  followed  him  in 
his  own  soul.  He  walks  the  world  in  pomp  and 
pleasure  —  with  a  slow,  corroding  misery  eating  out 
his  heart.  He  is  a  living  monument  of  the  retribu- 
tive vengeance  of  Divine  Justice.  It  could  not  be 
difficult  for  an  experienced  actor  to  play  this  part 
effectively,  in  a  professional  sense.  Mr.  Irving  has 
accomplished  far  more  than  that.  By  giving  this 
murderer  a  human  heart,  by  making  paternal  tender- 
ness the  motive  and  passion  of  his  life,  and  then  by 


HENRY  IRVING. 


depicting,  with  consummate  skill,  those  agonies  of 
the  soul  which  only  such  a  soul  can  suffer,  he  creates 
an  image  not  less  pitiable  than  horrible  of  that  forlorn 
humanity  which  evil  has  conquered  and  which  inexora- 
ble justice  must  now  destroy.  It  is  possible  to  mis- 
understand an  actor's  intention ;  but  Mr.  Irving 
produced  the  effect  of  pathos  as  well  as  largely  the 
effect  of  terror,  the  latter  being  predominant,  and  his 
method,  in  the  latter,  being  wonderfully  subtle  and 
picturesque.  The  feverish  alertness  engendered  by 
the  strife  of  a  strong  will  against  a  sickening  apprehen- 
sion, the  desperate  sense,  now  defiant  and  now  abject, 
of  impending  doom,  the  slow  paralysis  of  the  feelings, 
under  the  action  of  remorse  —  these,  indeed,  were 
given  with  appalling  truth.  Since  the  days  of  Charles 
Kean  no  display  of  morbid  spiritual  vivisection  has 
been  seen  upon  the  stage  that  resembles  the  dream 
of  Mathias  as  acted  by  Henry  Irving.  The  audience 
was  spell-bound  during  this  scene.  In  the  long  back- 
ward of  recollection  no  parallel  arises  to  this  sustain- 
ment  of  agony  in  that  most  difficult  of  all  dramatic 
conditions,  soliloquy.  Here  is  the  spring  of  Mr. 
Irving's  power.  He  wields  a  fascinating  and  victorious 
magnetism,  essentially  personal.  Nothing  else  could 
sustain  an  actor,  in  his  complete  hold  of  an  audience, 
through  so  terrible  an  ordeal. 

The  effect  upon  that  audience  was  singular ;  and, 
in  fact,  this  actor  is  one  who  will  always  leave  upon 
the  same  assemblage  strangely  different  impressions. 
Speaking  with  reference  to  execution  and  quality,  it  may 
be  said  that  a  taste  for  the  acting  of  Mr.  Irving  has  to  be 
acquired.  But  when  once  it  has  been  acquired  it  gives 
its  possessor  great  delight.     Mr.  Irving  is  a  peculiar 


8  HENRY  IRVING. 

actor.  His  personality  and  his  methods  of  art  are 
characterised  by  special  fascinations,  and  also  by  special 
and  perplexing  singularities.  His  oddities  help  to 
make  him  unique ;  and  these  oddities  are  not,  to  all 
persons,  agreeable.  Some  of  them,  indeed,  are  defects. 
Mr.  Irving's  stage-walk,  for  example,  is  sometimes 
stilted  and  angular ;  and  this  peculiarity,  although 
really  natural  to  him,  and  one  of  the  results  of  nervous 
excitement,  has  the  effect  of  artifice,  wherever  it 
chances  to  be  inharmonious  with  the  character  that 
he  personifies.  His  vocalism,  furthermore,  particularly 
under  the  stress  of  agitation,  is  sometimes  inarticulate 
and  indistinct.  He  indulges  freely  in  what  Shakespeare 
has  designated  "flaws  and  starts."  He  uses  at  times 
the  rapid,  tripping  enunciation  and  song-like  cadence 
which  are  peculiar  to  the  English  speech  of  foreigners, 
particularly  the  French.  His  machinery  includes  darkly 
lowering  glances,  of  portentous  menace.  His  voice, 
notwithstanding  that  he  is  a  man  of  sinewy  physi- 
cal constitution,  wiry,  nervous,  and  sustained  by  patient, 
resolute  will,  is  neither  copious  nor  resonant,  not  at 
all  the  organ  of  a  Forrest  or  a  Salvini,  and,  therefore, 
although  his  tones  are  often  tender,  or  piercing,  or 
vibrant,  he  is  apt  to  disappoint  the  listener,  at  moments 
when  great  vocal  resources  are  desired,  as  a  relief, 
by  the  over-wrought  emotions  of  his  audience.  His 
range  of  facial  expression  includes  a  variety  of  mean- 
ings, but  these  are  mostly  weird,  eccentric,  saturnine, 
mystical ;  and  hence  his  face  is  less  eloquent  with  the 
elemental  feelings  of  human  nature  than  with  its  wild- 
ness,  strangeness,  and  sombre  and  agonising  pathos  — 
the  poetry  of  storm  or  of  desolation  —  under  the  rav- 
ages  of  tragic   imagination,    intellectual   strain,   and 


HENRY  IRVING. 


miserable  experience.  His  smile,  indeed,  is  one  of 
singular  sweetness  ;  and  sometimes  it  touches  his  sad, 
scholastic,  high-bred,  noble  features  with  the  perfect 
sunshine  of  beauty.  But  equally  by  temperament, 
physique,  taste,  and  training,  Mr.  Irving  is  a  man  of 
mysterious  quality  and  exceptional  characteristics. 
Such  a  man  is  not  readily  comprehended ;  but,  when 
he  is  comprehended,  he  inspires  a  profound  sympathy 
and  admiration. 

It  is  to  the  puzzling  influence  of  this  complex  web 
of  beauties  and  defects,  to  the  prevalent  and  predom- 
inant singularity  of  the  actor,  that  divers  commen- 
tators monotonously  and  uselessly  refer  in  ringing  the 
changes  upon  Mr.  Irving's  "mannerisms."  Some 
minds  will  always  reject  what  they  cannot  understand, 
and  censoriousness  ever  prefers  to  dwell  upon  a  fault 
rather  than  a  merit.  But  this  is  not  the  road  to  the 
truth.  Neither  like  nor  dislike,  neither  praise  nor 
censure,  is  of  the  least  importance  alongside  of  the 
necessity  of  interpretation.  The  liberal  judgment 
pierces  to  the  meaning  of  the  blemishes  and  of  the 
vagueness,  while  recognising  and  admitting  the  beauties 
and  the  light.  Mr.  Irving's  nature,  while  capable  — 
as  the  deepest  and  sternest  of  tragic  natures  often  are 
—  of  erratic  and  dazzling  excursions  into  the  domain 
of  grim,  or  grotesque,  or  farcical  humour,  and  while 
certainly  sensitive  and  tender,  is  doubtless  more  par- 
ticularly restricted  to  the  region  of  the  melancholy, 
morbid,  saturnine,  sardonic,  and  terrible.  His  art- 
methods,  inevitably,  would,  under  these  conditions,  be 
touched  with  mysticism  and  grim  extravagance ;  and 
they  certainly  are  affected  by  physical  impediments  — 
visible  wherever  repression  is  substituted  for  utterance, 


io  HENRY  IRVING. 

and  the  shuddering  quiver  of  the  quicksand  stands  for 
the  explosion  of  the  tempest.  But, —  allowing  for 
every  physical  inadequacy,  and  looking  through  all 
spiritual  vagueness  and  mystery, —  the  sensitive  and 
thoughtful  observer  cannot  fail  here  to  discern  a  glori- 
ous instrument  of  dramatic  emotion,  sensitive,  trem- 
ulous, true,  a  soul  and  mind  rich  in  the  capacity  to 
feel  and  to  translate  the  tragic  aspects  of  humanity. 
And,  surely,  this  in  acting  is  the  main  thing :  not 
simply  a  professional  skill ;  not  simply  a  felicity  of 
special  effort ;  but  the  potency  of  individual  resource, 
—  behind  that  skill  and  effort, — which  makes  the 
true  actor  a  perennial  spring  of  refreshment  to  the 
intellectual  life  of  his  age. 

Mr.  Irving,  like  every  other  human  creature,  has  his 
limitations.  The  work  that  he  displayed  as  Mathias 
made  evident  the  delicacy  of  his  physical  powers,  the 
intricate  character  of  his  artistic  means,  and  the  per- 
plexing eccentricities  of  his  style.  He  is  the  flute  and 
not  the  trumpet.  He  could  no  more  produce  that 
mellow  thunder  of  voice,  rugged  grandeur  of  form,  and 
affluent  and  torrid  sensuality,  which  only  just  fell 
short  of  transcendent  genius  in  Edwin  Forrest,  than  he 
could  fly  through  the  heavens.  The  flow  of  his  spirit 
could  never  be  the  great  ninth  wave  that  seems  to 
crush  the  crag  whereon  it  dashes.  He  stands  forth 
with  all  his  equipments  in  order  and  all  his  fine  facul- 
ties in  the  leash.  He  is  an  intellect  enthroned  above 
the  passions.  He  knows  that  inspiration  may  come, 
but  he  will  leave  that  to  take  care  of  itself.  He 
works  with  a  thousand  subtle  touches,  with  many  a 
seeming  accident  of  shadow,  with  many  a  sudden 
jet   of  light.      He   will  sometimes   leave    the    senses 


HENRY  IRVING.  n 

unthrilled.  He  will  sometimes  be  fantastic  in  his 
ideals.  He  will  sometimes  push  singularity  of  treat- 
ment to  the  verge  of  excess.  But  he  speaks  to  the 
imagination  and  to  the  soul ;  and,  in  everything  that 
he  says  and  does  and  is,  you  feel  the  nameless  charm 
of  genius.  Ample  discussion  may  be  anticipated  as  to 
this  actor's  ideals  of  character,  as  to  his  suitability  to 
certain  parts,  and  as  to  the  exact  nature  and  limits  of 
his  powers  of  expression.  But  nobody  will  doubt  that 
he  is  a  true  and  sure  artist,  and  that  his  work  is  guided 
by  intellectual  purpose  and  pervaded  by  that  inde- 
scribable attribute  which  is  the  consecration  of  poetry  : 

"The  light  which  never  was  on  sea  or  land." 

The  original  of  "  The  Bells,"  "  Le  Juif  Polonais,"  is 
a  dramatic  study  by  Messrs.  Erckmann-Chatrian,  and 
in  the  French  was  not  designed  for  representation. 
Mr.  Leopold  Lewis  made  the  version  of  it  that  is 
used  by  Mr.  Irving,  but  he  has  not  made  it  much 
more  than  a  one-part  play.  This  is  noted,  not  as  an 
objection,  but  as  a  fact.  The  one-part  play  is  some- 
times an  excellent  thing — as  maybe  seen,  for  exam- 
ple, in  Home's  "  Death  of  Marlowe,"  which  is  not 
only  one-part  but  one-act.  In  construction  a  chief 
merit  of  "  The  Bells  "  is  that  it  so  deftly  surrounds 
a  terrible  and  tragic  experience  with  the  sweet  cheer- 
fulness of  a  happy  domestic  life.  Mathias,  this  agoni- 
sing wretch,  is  framed  in  sunshine.  The  cold  lustre 
that  is  made  to  play  about  the  mystery  is,  likewise,  to 
be  noted  as  a  subtle  and  brilliant  effect  of  art.  Ever 
and  anon,  through  fifteen  years  of  shuddering  dread 
and  stealthy,  furtive  precaution,  the  assassin  hears  the 
sleigh-bells  tinkle  that  were  on  his  victim's  horse  on 


HENRY  IRVING. 


that  terrible  winter  night  _of  the  nameless  and  hideous 
murder.  This  aerial  voice,  borne  on  the  frosty,  glitter- 
ing air,  creates  an  emotion  of  apprehensiveness,  weird, 
solemn,  and  awful.  The  movement  of  the  play,  like- 
wise, is  direct  and  rapid,  and  its  language  is  appro- 
priate and  sincere. 

* 

At  the  close  of  the  performance,  Mr.  Irving — who 
had  already  been  six  times  recalled — was  again  sum- 
moned before  the  curtain,  and  he  then  replied  to  the 
public  greeting,  as  follows : 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  I  believe  it  is  a  cus- 
tom with  you  to  allow  an  actor  to  thank  you  for  the 
pleasure  you  have  given  to  him ;  and  I  will  avail  my- 
self of  that  custom  now,  to  say  that  I  thank  you  with 
all  my  heart  and  soul.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  great- 
ness of  your  welcome  typifies  the  greatness  of  your 
nation.  I  thank  you,  and  '  beggar  that  I  am,  I  am 
even  poor  in  thanks.'  Let  me  say  that  my  comrades 
are  also  deeply  sensible  of  your  kindness,  and  let  me 
add  that  I  hope  you  will  give  a  warmer  welcome,  if 
such  were  possible,  than  I  have  received,  to  my  asso- 
ciate and  friend,  Miss  Ellen  Terry,  who  will  have  the 
honour  of  appearing  before  you  to-morrow  night.  And 
finally,  if  it  be  not  a  liberty,  will  you  allow  me  to  ex- 
press the  hope  that  '  our  loves  may  increase  even  as 
our  days  do  grow.'" 


'*HP 


Ill 

THE  GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACTING. 

THE  public  has  just  witnessed  a  remarkable  suc- 
cess, achieved  by  that  intellectual  and  devoted 
actor,  Lawrence  Barrett,  in  a  poetical  tragedy,  of 
American  authorship,  which  has  held  the  stage  con- 
tinuously and  prosperously  for  many  weeks.  The  best 
of  American  comedians  and  one  of  the  few  great 
actors  of  the  world — Mr.  Jefferson — is  acting  in  New- 
York  to  crowded  houses,  and  with  a  potent  and 
beautiful  alliance  of  art,  pathos,  and  humour.  In. 
a  neighbouring  city,  within  a  few  days,  the  leader 
of  the  stage  in  America, —  Edwin  Booth, —  only  re- 
cently returned  from  triumphant  successes  in  Europe, 
makes  his  reentrance  upon  that  field  of  dramatic 
art  which  owes  more  to  him  than  to  any  other  living 
man.  In  the  populous  and  busy  West  that  Roman 
hero,  John  McCullough,  is  received  with  affection  and 
acclaim.  Across  the  sea,  in  the  capital  city  of  Eng- 
land, the  beautiful  and  noble  American  actress,  Mary 
Anderson,  has  met  with  a  triumph,  unmatched  for 
suddenness  and   splendour  since   the  days   of    Miss 

3  13 


14  HENRY  IRVING. 

O'Neill.  In  other  directions  and  in  other  ways  the  stage 
is  wielding  extraordinary  power.  This  period  in  theat- 
rical history  may  be  marked,  therefore,  as  impressive 
and  auspicious.  These,  in  fact,  are  the  "palmy  days." 
It  is  noticeable,  though,  that  the  stage  of  the  present 
is  always  "degenerate."  Persons  who  seek  "the 
golden  age  "  invariably  find  that  it  retires  backward  as 
they  advance.  Meres,  in  "Wit's  Treasury,"  which  is 
dated  1598,  when  complimenting  the  poet  Drayton, 
speaks  of  "these  declining  and  corrupt  times,  when 
there  is  nothing  but  roguery  in  villainous  man."  No 
doubt  the  stage  was  comprehended  in  that  censure. 
Yet  that  was  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson, 
and  Burbage.  Old  Cibber,  in  his  age,  could  see  little 
or  no  merit  in  contemporary  players ;  yet  that  was  the 
time  of  Garrick  and  Maria  Arne,  of  Mossop  and 
Spranger  Barry.  Smollett's  Squire  Bramble,  speaking 
no  doubt  the  actual  belief  of  that  great  delineator 
of  character  and  manners,  denotes  a  little  later  period 
—  that  of  1770  —  as  "  these  times  of  dulness  and  de- 
generacy." Macklin,  when  an  old  man,  used  to  cry 
out,  disdainfully,  "  where  are  your  actors  ? "  Yet 
Macklin,  who  had  lived  in  the  period  of  Dogget,  Mrs. 
Barry,  Barton  Booth,  Mrs.  Oldfield,  and  Mrs.  Bellamy, 
might,  even  as  he  spoke,  have  seen  Charles  and  John 
Kemble,  Edward  Shuter,  Thomas  King,  Mrs.  Dancer, 
and  Mrs.  Siddons.  In  181 1,  Mary  Godfrey,  one  of  the 
intimate  friends  of  Tom  Moore,  writing  to  him  about 
the  theatre  in  London,  said  that  "an  author  who 
hopes  for  success  on  the  stage  must  fall  in  with  popular 
taste,  which  is  now  at  the  last  gasp  and  past  all  cure. " 
Yet  at  that  very  moment  Kean  and  the  Kembles, 
and  Fawcett  and  Munden  were  in  full  career. 


HENRY  IRVING.  15 

In  1845,  Mr.  James  Rces,  a  lachrymose  chronicler 
of  the  American  theatre,  described  the  genius  of  the 
drama  as  "an  owl,"  sitting  "in  gloom  and  eternal 
night,"  upon  the  wreck  of  the  stage.  Yet  that  was 
the  time  of  Junius  Brutus  Booth,  Edwin  Forrest, 
Thomas  Hamblin,  Charles  Burke,  and  the  most  illus- 
trious of  the  house  of  Wallack.  So  in  the  present 
period  our  theatre  is  very  frequently  disparaged,  in 
comparison  with  a  boasted  but  not  very  well  compre- 
hended past,  notwithstanding  that,  in  the  day  now  pass- 
ing, the  American  stage  is  adorned  and  dignified  by 
Edwin  Booth,  Joseph  Jefferson,  Lester  Wallack,  John 
McCullough,  Lawrence  Barrett,  William  Warren,  John 
Gilbert,  Mary  Anderson,  and  Clara  Morris;  while 
across  the  Atlantic,  the  brilliant  traditions  of  Garrick, 
Kemble,  Macready,  and  Phelps  are  sustained  and  aug- 
mented by  the  genius  and  devotion  of  Henry  Irving,  by 
the  ample  scholarship  of  men  like  William  Creswick 
and  John  Ryder,  by  the  fine  brain  and  splendid  energy 
of  Genevieve  Ward,  by  the  rich,  fascinating,  woman- 
like loveliness  and  the  exquisite  art  of  Mrs.  Kendal, 
by  the  intellectual  character  and  fiery  force  of  Ada 
Cavendish,  and  by  the  original  mind,  the  weird,  mag- 
netic temperament,  and  the  strange,  bewildering 
beauty  of  Ellen  Terry.  The  truth  is  that,  in  theatrical 
history,  every  barren  present  becomes  a  golden  past, 
the  moment  it  has  drifted  sufficiently  far  away  upon 
the  ocean  of  time  to  be  hallowed  with  the  lovely  mist 
of  antiquity. 

The  bright  periods  in  the  history  of  acting  arrive 
whenever  it  happens  that  one  man  has  arisen,  who, 
to  genius  and  character,  adds  devotion  and  inflex- 
ible will.     Such  a  man  dignifies  and  adorns  the  stage, 


1 6  HENRY  IRVING. 

and  invests  it  with  an  allurement  which  the  public  can- 
not resist ;  and  then,  suddenly  there  ensues  a  great 
theatrical  prosperity.  This  was  so  when  Garrick  ap- 
peared —  of  whom  the  explanation  is  suggested  in  these 
significant  words,  in  George  Anne  Bellamy's  "  Apol- 
ogy": "As  Mr.  Garrick  was  come  to  London"  (so 
wrote  that  sprightly  actress),  "I  was  obliged  to  attend 
to  the  duties  of  my  profession.  The  most  intense  ap- 
plication was  necessary  for  those  who  fought  under  his 
banners.  As  he  was  unremitting  himself  in  his  atten- 
tion to  business,  he  expected  those  he  employed  to  be 
the  same."  Here,  plainly  enough,  is  the  man  of  genius, 
character,  and  will,  whose  method  is  hard  work.  The 
result  was  inevitable.  The  Garrick  period  in  stage 
history,  though  not  all  golden,  had  its  golden  side ; 
and  Macready,  Charles  Kean,  and  Mr.  Irving,  since 
then,  have  only  repeated  the  experience  of  Garrick. 

Lord  Byron,  writing  in  1817,  said  that  his  personal 
association  and  acquaintance  with  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
of  which  he  was  once  a  manager,  in  association  with 
Whitbread  and  others,  had  given  him  the  greatest  con- 
tempt for  the  stage.  Allowance  has  always  to  be  made, 
by  the  student  who  would  know  Byron's  real  opinions, 
for  that  woman-like  habit  of  strong  statement  in  which 
he  generally  indulged,  and  which  made  him,  on  one 
occasion,  say  that  he  considered  Shakespeare  to  be  "a 
damned  humbug."  Yet,  aside  from  exaggeration, 
this  testimony  of  a  great  mind,  as  to  the  state  of  the 
theatre  at  an  important  epoch,  is  useful  and  signifi- 
cant. That  period,  evidently,  had  little  that  was 
"  golden  "  about  it.  Edmund  Kean,  the  most  comet- 
like and  dazzling  dramatic  genius  that  ever  England  has 
produced,  was,  indeed,  acting  at  that  time.     But  Ed- 


HENRY  IRVING.  17 

mund  Kean  had  neither  moral  stability,  inflexible  devo- 
tion, nor  steadfast  will.  Genius,  as  old  Bernard  noticed, 
is  apt  to  hold  up  more  glasses  than  one  —  and  Edmund 
Kean  was  a  type  of  all  that,  in  genius,  is  wayward  and 
deplorable.  The  Kembles  might  have  done  much 
more  than  they  actually  did,  but  neither  of  them  seems 
to  have  been  animated  with  more  than  a  personal  am- 
bition. The  phlegmatic  temperament  of  John  Philip 
Kemble  and  the  selfishness  of  his  great  sister,  Mrs. 
Siddons,  were  notorious.  After  the  ebb  of  the  Garrick 
days,  in  fact,  the  tide  did  not  again  come  to  flood  till 
the  days  of  Macready  and  Charles  Kean ;  and  after 
their  time  the  British  drama  languished  till  it  was 
revived  by  Henry  Irving.  Each  of  these  actors  has 
made  a  golden  era  in  stage  history  —  and  for  a  like 
reason.  Mr.  Irving  himself  has  said  that  "the  fortu- 
nate actor  is  the  actor  who  works" — and  work  is  his 
principle,  exactly  as  it  was  the  principle  of  Garrick. 
But  work  will  not  accomplish  all.  There  is  a  crowning 
and  irradiating  attribute,  and  that  is  charm.  Much 
depends  upon  the  quality  of  the  worker.  When  genius 
works,  having  the  implements  of  character,  devotion, 
and  will,  to  work  with,  the  result  must  always  be 
victory. 

"  The  reason  of  things,"  said  that  wise  old  divine, 
Dr.  South,  "lies  in  a  little  compass,  if  the  mind  could 
at  any  time  be  so  happy  as  to  light  upon  it."  The 
reason  of  Mr.  Irving's  great  success,  and  of  its  per- 
manence, lies  in  these  three  words  —  character,  work, 
and  charm.  Some  things  in  this  shifting  world  are 
not  matters  of  opinion.  The  renown  of  an  actor, 
whose  conduct  of  life  has  proceeded  on  the  lines  of 
high  motive  and  firm  principle,  becomes  woven  into 
3* 


1 8  HENRY  IRVING. 

the  texture  of  his  countrymen's  experience.  His  per- 
sonality and  his  influence  are  a  part  of  the  common 
life  of  his  time.  Mr.  Irving,  from  the  first  step  of  his 
career, — which,  of  late,  is  as  well  known  here  as  in 
England, —  has  kept  his  resolution  fixed  upon  the 
attainment  of  a  great  object.  He  has  believed  in  his 
profession  and  in  himself.  He  has  aimed  at  the  highest 
and  has  never  faltered.  He  has  comprehended  the 
intellectual  spirit  of  the  age — its  thirst  for  sensuous 
beauty,  for  luxury,  for  perfection  of  form,  and,  above 
all,  its  passionate  admiration  for  valiant  and  abso- 
lute achievement ;  and  therefore  he  has  been  thor- 
ough, and  has  made  even  success  his  servant.  He  has 
pressed  other  arts  and  the  mechanical  sciences  into  the 
service  of  the  art  of  acting.  He  has  played  for  a  high 
prize,  and  he  has  never  been  afraid  to  venture  a  high 
stake.  He  has  had  the  audacity  of  far-sighted  courage 
—  the  steadfast,  self-centred  strength  of  cool,  intrepid, 
patient,  predominant  intellect.  And,  which  is  indeed 
extraordinary,  he  has  preserved,  throughout  the  devel- 
opment of  that  inflexible  character,  something  of  the 
gentleness  of  a  child  and  the  dreaminess  of  a  poet. 
When  such  a  man  as  this  has  gained  a  large  share  in 
the  guidance  of  the  stage  the  world  may  well  feel  that 
the  theatre  is  an  instrument  of  vast,  varied,  and  be- 
neficent power.  The  harp-strings  slumber  till  touched 
by  the  magician's  hand.  Henry  Irving  is  a  magician 
to-day.  On  both  sides  of  the  ocean  the  English  race 
hears  him  with  honour ;  and  the  echo  of  his  earnest 
and  splendid  artistic  life  will  sound  on  in  human 
hearts  long  after  its  music  has  ended  in  the  silence 
that  waits  for  all. 


IV 


CHARLES    THE    FIRST. 


OCTOBER  31st. —  A  greater  contrast  could  scarcely 
be  imagined  than  that  existing  between  "Charles 
I."  and  "The  Bells."  The  latter  is  a  monologue  of 
misery,  touched  now  and  then  with  a  lurid  glare  of 
insane  humour.  The  former  is  a  grave  historical 
drama,  depicting  the  domestic  life  and  the  surrounding 
political  tribulations  of  a  king,  during  the  days  of  dan- 
ger and  turbulence  that  immediately  preceded  his  down- 
fall and  his  death.  "Charles  I."  was  presented,  last 
night,  at  the  Star  Theatre,  and  Mr.  Irving,  in  his 
embodiment  of  the  king,  gave  proof  of  his  versa- 
tility, as  well  as  a  large  revelation  of  the  lofty  moral 
aspects  of  his  mind,  his  peculiar  vein  of  melancholy 
tenderness,  and  that  noble  serenity  of  repose  which 
is  such  an  excellent  thing  in  dramatic  art. 

The  piece  is  new  on  the  American  stage.  It  is  a 
four-act  play,  by  Mr.  W.  G.  Wills,  the  novelist, 
written  in  a  style  of  blank  verse  which  occasionally 
becomes  poetical,  but,  for  the  most  part,  remains 
simply  useful.  The  first  scene  is  at  Hampton  Court, 
where  the  King  is  shown  with  his  wife  and  children 


2o  HENRY  IRVING. 

around  him.  The  second  scene  is  at  Whitehall, 
where  the  King  and  Cromwell  are  confronted,  and 
where  an  attempt  to  arrest  the  sovereign  person  is 
frustrated  by  his  watchful  wife.  The  third  scene  is  in 
the  royal  camp,  at  Fairfax,  and  it  ends  with  the  betrayal 
and  delivery  of  the  King  by  his  treacherous  adherent, 
Lord  Moray,  into  the  hands  of  the  Parliament, —  then 
armed  against  him.  The  fourth  and  last  scene  is  again 
at  Whitehall,  where  the  Queen  at  first  begs  Cromwell 
to  spare  her  husband's  life  and  then  defies  him,  and 
where  the  royal  martyr  takes  his  last  farewell  of  wife 
and  children. 

The  slender  story  thus  told  has  been  made  by  a 
falsification  of  history  in  several  important  particulars. 
Oliver  Cromwell,  perhaps,  was  ambitious  to  make 
himself  King  of  England,  and  to  establish  his  family 
as  a  royal  one,  but  there  is  no  reason  to  believe  that 
he  was  the  mean  knave  represented  in  this  play.  King 
Charles  was  a  man  of  pure  life  and  exalted  character, 
refined,  accomplished,  and  devout,  but  he  was  not 
altogether  the  saint  depicted  by  Mr.  Wills ;  for  he  was 
very  crafty,  and  his  mind  was  so  saturated  with  the 
idea  of  the  divine  right  of  kings  that  it  had  little  or  no 
sense  of  the  obligation  of  absolute  truthfulness  to  his 
people.  Charles  was  not  betrayed  by  any  one  man, 
but  was  sold  by  the  Scots  to  the  English  Parliamentary 
chieftains;  and  in  his  last  hours  only  two  of  his  six 
children  were  with  him,  while  the  queen  was  in  France. 

It  must  be  considered,  however,  that  the  only  way  in 
which  an  effective  drama  can  be  made,  on  an  histori- 
cal subject,  is  the  free  way  of  making  facts  entirely 
pliant  to  dramatic  purpose.  Shakespeare's  "  Henry 
VIII."  and    Bulwer's  "  Richelieu,"  for  example,  are 


HENRY  IRVING.  21 

good  plays,  but  dubious  history.  Mr.  Wills  could  only 
make  his  subject  successful  on  the  stage  by  exalting 
Charles  and  degrading  Cromwell,  and  by  providing 
personal  situations  —  cabinet  pictures —  instead  of  com- 
plex, populous,  and  diffused  historical  paintings.  He 
has  done  this,  and  done  it  well.  There  is  not, 
indeed,  much  invention  in  his  work.  The  effect 
most  nearly  electrical  occurs  at  the  close  of  the  third 
act,  in  Charles's  solemn,  withering  denunciation  of 
his  betrayer:  but  this  —  as  a  dramatic  expedient  —  is 
a  situation  reminiscent  of  Henry  V.  and  his  false  Lords, 
and  of  James  V.  and  Lord  Seyton,  in  "  The  King 
of  the  Commons." 

The  felicity  of  the  author  is  in  contrivance  of  pictures 
that  carry  onward  his  simple  plot,  and  in  selection  and 
combination  of  incidents  that  are  authentic,  or  that 
may  rationally  be  presumed.  The  scene  that  presents 
King  Charles  among  his  children,  repeating  an  old 
ballad  to  them,  while  all  around  him  are  whispers  of 
vague  danger  and  menace,  is  conceived  with  ten- 
derness and  with  a  fine  perception  of  dramatic  sus- 
pense. The  characters,  if  somewhat  inaccurately 
drawn,  are  nevertheless  drawn  distinctly  and  with  the 
power  of  earnest  conviction.  Pathos  inspires  the  beauti- 
ful speech  at  the  close,  and  the  curtain  falls  upon 
Charles's  famous  "Remember"  (spoken,  actually,  to 
Bishop  Juxon,  on  the  scaffold),  which  is  made  his  last 
word  to  his  devoted  wife,  in  solemn  and  passionate 
adjuration  that  she  will  always  love  and  cherish  his 
memory,  and  that  a  certain  miniature  of  herself  may 
rest  upon  his  bosom  in  death.  This  drama  inspires  affec- 
tion toward  the  King,  and  leaves  the  spectator  in  noble 
grief  at  the  ruin  and  death  of  a  good  and  lovable  man. 


HENRY  IRVING. 


The  fine  chapter  in  "  Waverley  "  which  describes  the 
execution  of  Fergus  may  be  named  as  typical  of  the 
anxious  and  grieved  emotion  that  pervades  it ;  and  as 
that  chapter  is  one  of  the  gems  of  literature  a  work 
must  indeed  be  sincere,  tender,  and  lovely  in  spirit 
that  can  be  thought  worthy  to  stand  beside  it. 

Mr.  Irving  as  Charles  I.  reproduces  the  well-known 
Vandyke  face  and  figure  as  perpetuated  on  the  glow- 
ing canvas  of  that  great  painter,  at  Windsor  and  at 
Warwick.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  unfortunate  mon- 
arch grew  gray  and  haggard  toward  the  last,  and  his 
hair  and  his  beard  were  long  and  were  neglected  — 
for  he  suffered  much.  But  the  actor  is  wise  who  comes 
not  too  near  to  fact.  Mr.  Irving  reproduces  that  dark, 
melancholy,  stately  figure  to  which  imagination  has 
been  accustomed ;  and  just  so,  no  doubt,  King  Charles 
appeared,  in  his  better  days,  when  walking  in  the  sweet 
sunshine  of  an  English  summer,  on  the  terraces  of 
Hampton  Court.  Mr.  Irving's  acting  in  this  part  is 
calmly  vigorous  with  the  weight  of  personal  character  ; 
various  with  the  play  of  a  fine  intellect ;  excellent 
for  its  even  sustainment  of  royal  dignity  ;  richly  com- 
plex in  its  elaborate,  courtly  manners ;  and  fraught 
equally  with  sombre  gravity  and  tender  feeling.  The 
part  admits  of  no  wild  outburst  of  morbid  frenzy, 
and  of  no  fantastic  treatment.  Royal  authority,  moral 
elevation,  and  domestic  tenderness  are  the  chief  ele- 
ments to  be  expressed ;  and  Mr.  Irving  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  expressing  them.  What  most  impressed  his 
auditors  was  his  extraordinary  physical  fitness  to  the 
accepted  ideal  of  Charles  Stuart,  combined  with  the 
passionate  earnestness  and  personal  magnetism  that 
enable  him  to  create  and  sustain  a  perfect  illusion. 


HENRY  IRVING.  23 

This  performance  is  less  striking  than  that  of  Mathias, 
less  relative  to  the  imagination  and  the  passions,  and 
therefore  less  indicative  of  the  characteristic  attributes 
of  his  genius.  But  it  is  rounded  and  complete ;  and 
to  the  student  it  is  especially  significant,  as  indicative 
of  the  actor's  method  of  applying  what  is  termed 
"natural"  treatment  to  the  poetic  drama. 

Mr.  Irving  presents  the  perfection  of  aristocracy. 
There  is  a  moment  in  this  performance  —  when  the 
king  stands  before  the  fire-place,  just  after  his  dis- 
missal of  Cromwell  and.  Ireton — that  seems  to  take 
you  into  the  literal  presence  of  Charles  I.,  even  as  he 
lived  and  acted.  The  more  this  impersonation  is 
studied  the  finer,  indeed,  does  it  seem  to  be,  and  the 
more  beauties,  of  this  subtle  order,  does  it  disclose. 
Mr.  Wills's  play  has  not  provided  a  great  situation  for 
anybody  whom  it  introduces,  and  Mr.  Irving's  acting 
is,  therefore,  the  more  remarkable  for  the  illusion 
he  sustains  and  the  effects  he  produces  by  means 
of  personal  character  and  admirable  art.  The  blem- 
ishes are  in  the  elocution.  Mathias  is  the  greater  per- 
formance of  the  two  :  not  in  moral  attributes,  weight  of 
character,  gracious  and  lovely  personal  traits,  or  the 
fine  detail  of  manners ;  but  in  power  to  deal  with  the 
passions  through  the  imagination,  and  to  sustain  a 
human  identity  in  an  ideal  region  of  terror  and  pathos. 

The  more  surprising  and  absorbing  performance  of 
the  night  was  that  of  Miss  Ellen  Terry,  who  came  for- 
ward as  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  making  her  first 
appearance  in  America.  She  was  welcomed  with  en- 
thusiasm and  was  called  before  the  curtain  again  and 
again,  as  the  night  wore  on.  Her  dazzling  beauty  as 
the  Queen,  and  her  strange  personal  fascination, —  in 


24  HENRY  IRVING. 

which  a  voice  of  copious  and  touching  sweetness  is 
conspicuous, — would  partly  explain  this  result.  But, 
"There  's  more  in  't  than  fair  visage."  The  Queen 
has  to  exhibit  impetuosity  and  caprice.  She  has  to 
express  conjugal  tenderness  and  to  illustrate  a  woman's 
fidelity  to  the  man  whom  she  loves,  when  that  man 
is  in  trouble  and  danger.  She  has  to  ask  a  boon  from 
a  tyrant,  and  to  turn  upon  him,  in  scorn  and  noble 
pride,  when  repulsed.  The  situations  are  conventional. 
What  shall  be  said  of  the  personality  that  can  make 
them  fresh  and  new?  Miss  Terry  is  spontaneous, 
unconventional,  and  positively  individual,  and  will  use 
all  characters  in  the  drama  as  vehicles  for  the  expres- 
sion of  her  own.  This,  in  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  was 
a  great  excellence.  Miss  Terry's  acting  has  less  mind 
in  it  than  that  of  Mr.  Irving,  though  not  deficient 
here,  but  it  proceeds  essentially  from  the  nervous 
system  —  from  the  soul.  There  were  indications  that 
her  special  vein  is  high  comedy ;  but  she  was  all 
the  woman  in  the  desolate  farewell  scene  that  ends 
the  piece,  and  she  melted  every  heart  with  her  dis- 
tress, even  as  she  had  charmed  every  eye  with  her 
uncommon  loveliness.  With  eloquence  and  with  spir- 
itual majesty,  she  possesses  a  sweetness  that  softens 
the  hard  lines  of  ancient  tragic  form,  and  leaves  the 
perfect  impression  of  nature. 

The  common  idea  of  a  queen,  and  one  that  has  usually 
found  a  liberal  acceptance  on  the  stage,  presupposes 
that  majesty  is  furnished  with  a  poker  instead  of  a 
spine,  and  uses  no  language  save  such  as  is  stiffened  with 
starch.  With  this  notion,  certainly,  Miss  Terry's  Queefi 
Henrietta  was  inharmonious ;  but,  while  she  remained 
a  sweet  and  sympathetic  woman,  there  never  was  an 


HENRY  IRVING.  25 

instant  requiring  that  true  loftiness  which  is  in  the 
soul  when  she  did  not  make  the  situation  royal  with  a 
dignity  far  beyond  buckram. 

A  queen  is  not  less  a  queen  because  she  can  be  simple 
and  gentle.  '  A  noble  English  lady,  long  since  dead, 
used  to  relate  one  of  her  experiences  with  a  real  queen, 
when,  as  a  child,  she  lived  at  Versailles,  and  was  the 
pet  of  Marie  Antoinette.  That  queen  had  been  playing 
with  her  in  the  morning,  but  was  now  to  receive,  sitting 
at  the  bottom  of  her  bed,  a  group  of  ambassadors. 
The  child  wished  to  see  this  ceremony,  and,  for  this 
purpose,  hid  herself  in  the  bed-curtains.  When  the 
ambassadors  had  come,  and  the  child  looked  forth 
upon  the  scene,  such  a  change  had  taken  place  in  the 
countenance  of  the  queen,  only  just  now  her  merry 
and  laughing  play-fellow,  that  she  was  both  astonished 
and  terrified ;  nor  was  she  ever  able,  through  after 
years,  to  forget  that  imperial  face.  This  is  the  kind 
of  queen  that  Miss  Terry  has  presented  —  and  with 
a  ioveliness  of  presence  and  a  purity  and  silvery 
music  of  speech  that  any  royal  lady  might  be  proud 
to  display. 


V 


LOUIS    THE    ELEVENTH. 


NOVEMBER  6th. — A  wise  Frenchwoman  said  that 
"admiration  is  always  impatient  to  put  an  end 
to  itself,  and  is  glad  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of 
doing  so."  She  was  acquainted  with  human  nature. 
Few  persons  can  long  endure  to  behold  the  success  of 
others.  There  are  signs  that  admiration  of  Mr.  Irving 
would  expire  if  it  could,  but  the  opportunity  seems  to 
be  slow  in  coming.  The  renowned  actor  has  now  ap- 
peared as  Mathias,  Charles  I. ,  and  Louis  XL ,  and  as 
long  as  he  continues  to  give  such  performances  as  he 
has  hitherto  given  admiration,  assuredly,  must  bear 
its  impatience.  Recognition  of  such  brilliant  efforts  is 
a  manifest  duty.  It  ought,  likewise,  to  be  a  heartfelt 
pleasure.  This  is  a  wide  world.  There  is  room  in  it 
for  everybody.  And  human  life  is  not  so  richly  blessed 
with  the  refining  and  ennobling  influences  of  intellect 
and  genius  that  any  one  of  them  can  wisely  be  spared. 
Last  night  Mr.  Irving  appeared  as  Louis  XL,  and 
was  welcomed  by  one  of  the  most  appreciative  assem- 
blies of  the  year.  His  fame  is  high,  in  this  particular 
part,  and  it  soon  became  evident  that  his  fame  is  de- 

26 


HENRY  IRVING.  27 


served.  It  was  one  of  those  exceptional  performances 
that  may  justly  be  called  great.  It  surpassed  that  of 
Charles  Kean  in  the  same  character.  It  was  appalling 
in  its  truth  and  its  power. 

The  character  of  Louis  XI.  comes  out  of  history, 
and  it  was  long  ago  immortalised  by  Scott,  in  his  novel 
of  "  Quentin  Durward."  The  play  comes,  by  the  pen 
of  Mr.  Boucicault,  out  of  the  stage  literature  of  France ; 
and  when  Charles  Kean  was  here,  in  1865,  it  was  made 
familiar  throughout  this  country.  The  character  is  hate- 
ful and  the  play  is  sombre ;  but  the  hateful  character 
exerts  the  sinister  fascination  of  potent  and  triumphant 
evil,  and  the  sombre  play  is  fraught  with  absorbing 
interest,  because  of  the  grisly  vitality  of  this  hideous 
character.  Since,  however,  Louis  XI.  is  repugnant, 
because  mankind  will  soon  hate  what  they  fear,  the 
part  cannot  have  a  permanent  success,  and,  indeed, 
it  is  only  endurable  when  splendidly  shown — as  it  is 
at  present. 

It  would  appear  to  be  Mr.  Irving's  method  first  to 
conceive  and  assume  the  temperament  of  a  character 
and  then  to  allow  the  various  attributes  of  that  charac- 
ter to  crystallise  around  that  temperament  and  take 
from  it  their  colour  and  direction.  He  indicated  the 
temperament  of  Louis  XL  as  that  of  humourous, 
grim,  and  bitter  sadness,  and  with  this  he  coloured 
every  attribute  of  the  part.  This  course  —  warranted 
no  less  by  knowledge  of  human  nature  than  by  the 
facts  of  history— is  both  wise  in  policy  and  subtle  in 
art ;  for  by  this  means  the  character  is  elevated  and 
brought  within  the  range  of  human  feeling  —  a  feeling 
difficult  to  define,  but  one  that  would  be  pity  if  it 
dared.     The  attributes  of  Louis  XL  are  authority,  sus- 


28  HENRY  IRVING. 

picion,  craft,  jealousy,  bigotry,  cold  intellect,  sardonic 
pleasantry,  and  superstitious  fear.  He  can  likewise 
act  with  malignity,  ferocity,  and  fury.  These  qual- 
ities, however,  are  blent  with  imperial  predominance, 
polished  speciousness,  consummate  tact,  and  the  his- 
trionic faculty  of  being  "all  things  to  all  men."  It 
would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  character  more  obnox- 
ious, or  one  less  susceptible  of  the  investiture  of  even 
a  fearful  fascination.  The  actor  who  can  cast  a  halo 
of  romance  over  such  a  baleful  compound  as  this  must 
possess,  in  a  high  degree,  both  imagination  and  pas- 
sionate sensibility. 

Mr.  Irving  has  not  failed  to  consider  that  Louis  XI. 
is  "born  in  the  purple";  that  he  has  long  exercised 
the  habit  of  command ;  that  he  is  old  and  ill ;  that 
his  mind  is  haunted,  harassed,  and  terrified  by  super- 
stition; that  his  memory  is  loaded  with  horrors  and 
his  conscience  corroded  with  remorse ;  and,  though  ma- 
lign and  terrible,  that  he  is,  nevertheless,  a  king  and  a 
man.  These  things  he  makes  to  be  felt,  and  by  means 
of  these  he  lifts  the  character  and  invests  it  with  an 
atmosphere  of  awe.  You  are  not  drawn  toward  him, 
indeed,  by  the  compassion  that  his  pathos  inspires  at 
two  or  three  points  in  the  performance  of  Mathias. 
The  voice  of  Mr.  Irving,  when,  as  Mathias,  he  recog- 
nises a  piece  of  the  Jew's  gold,  and  murmurs,  in  a 
tone  of  such  bleak  anguish,  "not  for  them  !  for  me, 
for  me,"  will  not,  surely,  soon  be  forgotten  by  those 
who  once  have  heard  it.  The  wild  agony  of  this 
forlorn  wretch,  when  in  his  lonely  chamber,  at  mid- 
night, and  half  stupefied  with  wine,  he  tries  to  dance, 
and  to  sing  a  gay  song,  keeping  time  to  the  dying 
music  of  distant  revellers,  was  a  sight  too  sad  for  tears. 
So,  too,  in  the  court-room,  the  desperate  and  broken 


HENRY  IRVING.  29 

man's  mechanical  reiteration  of  his  single  poor  and  use- 
less defence — "a  dream,  a  dream,  a  dream,  a  dream" 
—  had  an  air  of  dramatic  misery  most  appalling  and 
lamentable.  These  effects,  when  viewed  in  retrospect, 
seem  even  finer  than  they  did  when  they  were  passing. 
There  are  no  such  human  moments  as  these  in  the 
personation  of  Louis  XL  Yet,  by  suggesting  the 
spiritual  isolation  and  personal  wretchedness  of  this 
king,  in  association  with  his  prodigious  abilities,  his 
humour,  his  piety,  and  his  self-poise  in  the  wide  and 
turbulent  political  arena  on  which  he  plays  his  part,  the 
actor  has  adroitly  contrived  to  give  to  him  a  sad  and 
lonely  as  well  as  a  baleful  magnificence ;  so  that,  while 
he  never  ceases  to  be  dreadful,  equally  he  never  ceases 
to  charm. 

The  strangeness  and  the  eccentricities  of  Mr.  Irving 
adjust  themselves  to  this  character,  in  his  performance 
of  it,  precisely  as  they  did  in  his  assumption  oiMathias. 
The  execution  matches  the  ideal.  The  part  is  full  of 
abrupt  transitions — from  weakness  to  strength;  from 
fear  to  frenzy;  from  deadly,  implacable  resolution  to 
pious  and  contrite  humility;  from  the  easy  mood  of 
hypocritical  humour  to  the  sudden,  hideous  joy  of  tri- 
umphant malice ;  and  this  long  fever  of  craft,  wicked- 
ness, and  pain  is  rounded  at  last  with  a  frightened  and 
frightful  death.  All  along  the  line  of  the  part,  accord- 
ingly, are  excellent  opportunities  for  this  actor's  inces- 
sant vitality  and  complex  method,  and  especially  for 
that  picturesque  mystery  of  manner  through  which  his 
magnetism  plays,  like  the  lightning  in  the  cloud. 
The  wan  face,  the  dark  and  sunken  eyes,  the  thick, 
black  eyebrows,  the  lowering,  evanescent  smile,  the 
rapid  yet  stealthy  movements — all  these  characteristics 
of  Louis   Mr.    Irving   has   reproduced.      His   royalty 

4* 


3o  HENRY  IRVING. 

is  innate  —  precisely  as  it  was  in  Charles  I. — and 
although  this  is  a  monarch  who  cares  little  for  the 
mere  shows  of  sovereignty,  and  can  unbend  and  be 
familiar  and  even  jocose,  for  a  purpose,  he  remains 
a  monarch,  in  every  instant  of  his  being,  by  virtue  of 
that  indefinable  but  undeniable  majesty  of  character 
which  makes  certain  men  the  superiors  of  their  race. 
His  peculiar  locomotion  and  his  still  more  peculiar  elo- 
cution harmonise  with  the  part  and  heighten  its  weird- 
ness.  The  courage  of  Raphael,  who  could  paint  black 
iron  bars  across  his  beautiful  group  of  the  Angel  re- 
leasing St.  Peter  from  prison,  did  not  surpass  that  of 
Mr.  Irving,  in  h>s  utter  sacrifice  of  symmetry  and 
music  to  what  he  regards  as  nature  and  truth  in  the 
embodiment  of  his  ideals  of  the  morbid,  the  monstrous, 
the  agonising,  and  the  terrible  aspects  of  humanity, 
transfigured  in  the  world  of  the  imagination. 

Much  is  said  about  his  "mannerisms."  It  is  a 
convenient  word,  and  it  seems  to  be  freighted  with 
a  vast  significance.  "  The  Spanish  fleet  thou  canst 
not  see,"  says  the  Governor,  in  "The  Critic,"  "be- 
cause it  is  not  yet  in  sight."  Nothing  solaces  the 
puzzled  mind  like  one  of  these  comprehensive  and 
final  reasons.  Yet  it  might  not  be  amiss  to  remem- 
ber that  genius  is  a  law  to  itself,  and  that  its  success 
in  art  is  the  vindication  of  its  means.  One  of  the 
greatest  orators  that  ever  lived  was  Rufus  Choate  ;  and, 
as  all  competent  judges  who  ever  heard  him  speak 
will  testify,  Rufus  Choate's  oratory  defied  all  the  laws 
that  have  been  set  down  for  the  government  of  that 
art.  So  much  was  this  the  case  that  another  great 
orator,  Wendell  Phillips,  once  referred  to  Choate  as 
"a  monkey   in   convulsions."     The   seeming  chaos, 


HENRY  IRVING.  31 

however,  had  a  central  purpose  and  a  law;  and  the 
orator  was  always  triumphant.  Furthermore,  there 
never  was  an  actor,  that  attained  to  eminence,  who  was 
not  as  distinctively  marked  as  Mr.  Irving  is  with 
personal  peculiarities.  Garrick  sputtered.  Mossop  in- 
flated himself  like  the  arrogant  and  bellicose  turkey. 
Edmund  Kean  croaked  like  a  raven.  John  Philip 
Kemble  had  chronic  asthma  and  spoke  in  a  high 
falsetto.  Macready  stammered  and  grunted.  Holland 
snuffled.  Burke  twisted  his  spindle  legs.  Forrest 
"  chewed  the  cud,"  like  an  ox.  Charlotte  Cushman 
had  a  masculine  figure,  a  gaunt  face,  and  a  broken 
and  quavering  voice.  These  things  have  little  or 
nothing  to  do  with  the  essential  question.  The  art  of 
acting  is  a  complex  art,  made  up  of  many  arts.  It  is 
not  an  actor's  business  always  to  be  graceful  in  his 
attitudes  and  movements,  or  always  to  be  regular  and 
polished  in  his  periods  and  enunciation.  Every  artist 
has  a  way  of  his  own,  by  which  he  reaches  his  results. 
Mr.  Irving's  way  is  not  the  best  way  for  everybody, 
because  the  only  true,  right,  and  conclusive  way  of 
universal  human  nature ;  but,  undoubtedly,  it  is  the 
best  way  for  him.  He  produces  marvellously  fine 
effects  by  it,  and  therefore  he  is  right  in  using  it. 
Within  a  certain  field,  and  up  to  a  certain  point,  it  is 
invincible  and  triumphant.  As  far  as  he  now  stands 
disclosed  upon  this  stage  Mr.  Irving  is  a  thorough  and 
often  a  magnificent  artist,  one  who  makes  even  his  de- 
fects to  help  him,  and  one  who  leaves  nothing  to  blind 
and  whirling  chance ;  and  if  the  light  that  shines 
through  his  work  be  not  the  light  of  genius,  by  what 
name  shall  it  be  called  ? 


VI 

SHYLOCK. 


NOVEMBER  7th. —  It  is  usual  upon  our  stage 
to  represent  "The  Merchant  of  Venice"  in  a 
mutilated  condition.  This  custom  has  arisen  from  the 
fact  that  the  character  of  Shylock,  after  Macklin  restored 
it  to  the  theatre,  was  adopted  by  the  tragedians,  and 
made  to  overshadow  the  other  characters  in  the  piece. 
Several  parts  were  then  cut  out,  others  were  shortened, 
the  comedy  element  was  much  depressed,  and  the  play 
was  limited  to  four  acts  and  ended  with  the  trial 
scene.  The  justification  of  this  proceeding  was  neces- 
sity. The  tragedian,  if  he  uses  this  piece  at  all,  must 
use  it  as  a  "star"  piece.  A  company  of  comedians  ca- 
pable of  playing  it  as  pure  comedy  has  seldom  or  never 
existed,  and,  at  present,  it  could  not,  in  our  country,  be 
rallied  round  a  tragic  actor,  to  "star  "  him  in  Shylock. 
On  the  other  hand,  played  by  incompetent  perform- 
ers as  pure  comedy  it  would  be  intolerable  and  there- 
fore practically  useless  to  the  stage. 

In  Shakespeare's  time  it  appears  to  have  been  treated 
as  comedy,  with  Shylock  as  an  eccentric  character  part 
—  played  by  Burbage,  who  wore  a  red  wig.     In  Queen 

32 


HENRY  IRVING.  33 

Anne's  time  Lord  Lansdowne's  perversion  of  the 
original  was  accepted,  with  Dogget  as  Shylock,  who 
wore  the  red  wig  and  turned  the  Jew  into  farce.  Macldin 
took  up  Shylock  in  1 741,  and  astonished  his  generation 
by  showing  what  could  be  done  with  the  part  as 
Shakespeare  wrote  it.  Edmund  Kean  came  later  and 
surpassed  him.  Stage  history  since  then  teems  with 
fine  Shylocks, —  Henderson,  Cooke,  the  elder  Booth, 
Macready,  the  elder  Wallack,  G.  V.  Brooke,  J.  W. 
Wallack,  Jr.,  Edwin  Booth,  E.  L.  Davenport,  Bogumil 
Dawison,  and  Lawrence  Barrett,  for  example, —  but 
"The  Merchant  of  Venice"  itself  has  scarcely  ever 
been  treated  in  a  thoroughly  artistic  and  right  manner. 
It  is  absolute  comedy,  consistent  and  harmonious  in 
tone,  but  for  a  little  excess  of  emphasis  in  the  part  of 
Shylock,  and  exceedingly  beautiful  alike  in  its  contrasts 
of  character,  the  invention  of  its  scenes,  and  the  poetry 
of  its  language.  It  ought  always  to  be  played  as  a 
comedy,  and  played  with  but  the  slightest  condensa- 
tion of  the  text.  The  most  complete  presentation  of 
it  that  has  been  made  in  our  time  was  made  by  Edwin 
Booth,  at  the  Winter  Garden  Theatre,  in  1867. 

Last  night  at  the  Star  Theatre  the  public  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  what  Mr.  Irving  has  done  with 
this  good  old  play,  in  his  London  Lyceum  revival  of 
it,  which  was  reproduced  in  New -York.  His  work 
commends  itself  as  right  in  spirit,  fine  in  scholarship, 
and  glowing  in  execution.  The  play  was  given  in 
five  acts,  and  was  treated  throughout  as  a  comedy. 
The  scenery  was  sufficiently  correct  and  often  beautiful. 
Most  of  the  scenery  that  Mr.  Irving  has  displayed  here 
will  be  remembered  as  remarkable  for  harmony  of 
composition  and  for  a  rich  mellowness  of  colour,  highly 


34  HENRY  IRVING. 

tributary  to  illusion.  For  1'The  Merchant  of  Venice  " 
several  of  the  sets  were  bright  and  gay ;  but  the  more 
dusky  and  sombre  pictures  were  the  more  poetical. 
Mr.  Irving's  company,  likewise,  was  for  the  first  time 
shown  in  its  strength.  Mr.  William  Terriss  made 
Bassanio  appropriately  handsome,  manly,  noble,  and 
gay.  A  strong  and  picturesque  performance  of  the 
Prince  of  Morocco,  notable  for  sonorous  and  dis- 
creet delivery  of  a  difficult  text,  was  given  by  Mr.  T. 
Mead.  Antonio  was  made  dignified  and  earnest  by 
Mr.  T.  Wenman,  who  is  a  judicious  and  polished 
speaker,  sensible  of  the  delicate  shades  of  meaning 
in  the  text.  The  address  of  the  Duke  of  Venice  could 
not  be  better  done  than  it  was  by  the  veteran  Mr. 
Howe,  whose  dignity  and  feeling,  in  this  character, 
graced  by  suggestions  of  ripe  experience,  wisdom,  and 
humour,  made  this  a  most  satisfactory  representation. 
Miss  Milward  was  gentle  and  pleasing  in  lessica. 

Mr.  Irving  presented  Shylock.  His  ideal  is  right 
and  his  execution  is  full  of  subtle  touches  of  art. 
Douglas  Jerrold  said  of  Edmund  Kean  that  his  Shylock 
made  you  think  of  "a  chapter  out  of  the  Book  of 
Genesis."  The  Jew  may  be  presented  as  acting  from 
personal  covetousness  and  hatred,  or  he  may  be  pre- 
sented as  acting  from  this  motive,  commingled  with 
high  and  stern  religious  fanaticism.  The  latter  view 
exalts  the  character,  and  therefore  is  the  right  one. 
Antonio,  in  Shylock 's  mind,  has  outraged  Shy  lock's 
nation  and  religion  as  well  as  Shylock's  self.  The  Jew, 
in  pursuing  Antonio  to  the  torture  and  the  death,  is 
feeding  his  ancient  grudge ;  but  likewise  he  is  avenging 
the  wrongs  of  his  sacred  people.  He  thinks  himself 
the  vicegerent  of  Divine  Justice,  and  he  has  "an  oath 


HENRY  IRVING.  35 

in  heaven."  This,  apparently,  was  Edmund  Kean's 
theory  of  the  character,  and  this  is  the  ideal  reasserted 
by  Henry  Irving.  His  mental  grasp  of  the  part  is  per- 
fect. His  expression  of  austerity,  of  vindictive  malignity, 
of  the  sullen  resentment  that  broods  over  long-hoarded 
wrongs,  was  wonderfully  fine  —  backed  by  great  weight 
of  intellect  and  by  fierce,  hot-blooded,  inveterate  pur- 
pose. His  denotement  of  Shy  lock's  domestic  affections, 
which  are  passionate  and  pathetic,  was  clear  and  thrill- 
ing—  especially  in  the  frantic  lamentation  over  his 
fugitive  daughter,  and  the  heart-broken  words  about 
Leah  and  the  turquoise  ring. 

His  usage,  in  each  performance,  is  to  stud  the  work 
with  indications  of  the  physical  as  well  as  the  mental 
peculiarities  of  the  man  whom  he  has  undertaken  to 
embody.  King  Louis's  trick  of  stroking  his  withered 
cheeks  with  the  ends  of  his  fingers  is  an  example  of 
this  sort  of  embellishment.  It  is  the  province  of  an 
actor  to  give  a  body  to  the  soul  which  an  author  has 
created,  and  this  mechanism  is  Mr.  Irving's  recogni- 
tion of  that  province.  He  may  carry  this  embellish- 
ment to  excess,  and  he  sometimes  does,  especially  in 
the  poetic  drama.  His  Shylock  was  profusely  tinted 
in  this  way,  and  thereby  made  a  little  prosy.  Ideals 
ought  to  be  shown  in  the  light  of  poetry,  and  not 
in  the  light  of  common  life.  Mr.  Irving's  occa- 
sional staccato  elocution  was  also  against  him,  in  the 
level  speaking  of  Shylock.  For  the  raving  of  the 
infuriate  Jew,  in  the  street  scene,  he  was  found  defi- 
cient in  overwhelming  physical  force ;  but  he  wrought 
up  this  scene  with  a  controlled  intensity  of  passion 
that  was  painfully  tragic.  He  reached  his  summit 
and  climax  in  "No  tears  but  of  my  shedding";  and 


36  HENRY  IRVING. 

afterward,  in  the  cold,  determined,  hellish  cruelty  of 
purpose  that  animates  Shylock  in  the  trial  scene,  his 
"  Come,  prepare "  was  spoken  with  superb  effect. 
Such  single  achievements  as  these  flash  backward  and 
irradiate  a  whole  performance  with  the  lustre  of  mind, 
just  as  the  heat-lightning  illuminates  a  summer  even- 
ing sky.  By  these  an  observer  looks  into  an  actor's 
thought  and  discerns  what  is  known  and  meant  by 
him.  Mr.  Irving's  ideal  is  truer  than  his  execution  of  it. 
His  exit  from  the  trial  scene,  in  its  Hebraic  dignity, 
was  an  apex  of  perfect  pathos.  The  great  audience 
made  the  house  resound  here  with  plaudits  and  would 
have  recalled  him  —  but  he  did  not  return. 

Miss  Ellen  Terry  presented  Portia.  The  comedy 
of  this  actress  is  delicious.  Her  voice  is  perfect  music. 
Her  clear,  bell-like  elocution  is  more  than  a  refresh- 
ment—  it  is  a  luxury.  Her  simple  manner,  always 
large  and  adequate,  with  nothing  puny  or  mincing 
about  it,  is  a  great  beauty  of  the  art  which  it  so  deftly 
conceals.  Her  embodiment  of  a  woman's  loveliness, 
such  as,  in  Portia,  should  be  at  once  stately  and  fasci- 
nating and  inspire  at  once  respect  and  passion,  was 
felicitous  beyond  the  reach  of  descriptive  phrases. 
During  most  part  of  the  comedy  she  was  arrayed  in  a 
robe  of  what  seemed  flowing  gold.  In  the  trial  scene 
she  wore  scarlet  velvet.  Her  delivery  of  the  mercy 
speech  was  a  perfectly  modulated  and  beautiful  piece  of 
eloquence.  Her  sparkling  by-play,  in  the  "business  " 
about  the  ring,  can  only  be  called  exquisite.  Better 
comedy  has  not  been  seen. 


VII 


DISCURSIVE   IMPRESSIONS. 


NOVEMBER  12th.— Mr.  Irving's  Louis  XL  is  so 
excellent  a  work  that  it  surpasses  even  the  great 
performance  of  that  part  which  was  given  by  Charles 
Kean ;  and  to  say  this  is  to  offer  an  uncommon  tribute. 
The  statement,  however,  is  just,  and  it  implies  no  dis- 
paragement. Mr.  Irving  is  a  younger  man  than 
Charles  Kean  was  when  he  acted  here,  and  there- 
fore to  even  the  expression  of  age  and  weakness 
he  is  able  to  impart,  and  does  impart,  a  greater 
emphasis  of  nervous  vitality  than  was  possible  to  the 
older  and  feebler  actor.  Mr.  Irving,  furthermore,  has 
greatly  the  advantage  of  his  famous  predecessor,  in 
facial  expression  and  vocal  variety  and  power.  The 
play  of  feature  in  Mr.  Irving's  countenance  throughout 
this  personation  is  marvellous.  There  are  moments 
when  the  soul  of  the  king  is  mirrored  in  his  face,  and 
every  thought  seems  to  cast  a  shadow.  Then,  too, 
the  performance  excels  its  prototype  in  the  qualities 
of  intellectual  predominance,  demoniac  weirdness, 
and  grim  humour.  Finally,  Mr.  Irving's  monarch  is 
more  regal  throughout,  and,  in  the  death  scene,  more 
5  37 


38  HENRY  IRVING. 

awful.  As  a  rule  it  is  best  to  hold  fast  by  Dogberry's 
opinion,  that  "comparisons  are  odorous."  But  in 
this  instance  comparison  is  instructive  and  expressive ; 
and  it  can  give  no  offence — seeing  that  Charles  Kean 
has  long  been  dead,  and  that  his  generation  has  passed 
away.  Mr.  Irving's  treatment  of  the  character  of  Louis 
XI,  furthermore,  is  almost  exclusively  his  own.  He 
has  imitated  nobody;  whereas  Charles  Kean's  per- 
formance is  known  to  have  been  modelled,  to  a  con- 
siderable extent,  on  that  of  the  French  actor  by  whom 
the  part  was  originally  played.  Mr.  Irving  follows  the 
lines  laid  down  by  the  author  and  by  history ;  but  most 
of  his  illustrative  "  business  "  is  his  own. 

In  Shylock  Mr.  Irving's  ideal  undoubtedly  is  sound. 
His  Shylock  hates  Antonio  because  Antotiio  is  a 
Christian,  "but  more"  because  Antonio  "lends  out 
money  gratis,"  and  spoils  the  trade  of  usury  in 
Venice.  Religious  fanaticism  and  sordid  meanness  are 
thus  blended  in  Mr.  Irving's  Shylock,  even  as  they 
are  in  the  Jew  of  Shakespeare.  But  it  is  in  the  exe- 
cution of  an  ideal  that  an  actor  is  expected  particu- 
larly to  excel;  and  in  some  parts  of  this  Mr.  Irving 
was  inadequate  to  his  own  intention.  There  is  a  pos- 
sibility of  being  too  "natural."  The  great  persons  in 
Shakespeare  are  men  and  women,  it  is  true ;  but  also 
they  are  more  than  men  and  women.  They  have 
their  roots  in  the  actual  soil  of  human  nature,  but 
they  rise  far  above  it.  They  neither  speak  the  language 
nor  do  the  deeds  of  common  life.  They  speak,  for  the 
most  part,  in  blank  verse.  They  dwell  and  move  in 
a  poetical  atmosphere.  They  are  ideals,  exaggera- 
tions, persons  above  the  plane  of  ordinary  human 
existence.     Accordingly,  in  the  embodiment  of  them 


HENRY  IRVING.  39 

a  fine  poetical  generalisation  seems  preferable  to  a 
minute  definement  of  particulars;  just  as,  in  another 
branch  of  art,  the  oil-painting  with  its  rich  tones  and  its 
mystery  is  preferable  to  the  photograph.  The  Apollo  is 
the  image  and  emblem  of  perfect  human  beauty ;  and 
yet  no  part  of  it  is  made  with  exact  fidelity  to  the  shape 
of  an  actual  man.  This,  of  course,  cannot  be  a  new 
doctrine,  to  such  a  scholar  as  Mr.  Irving  has  shown 
himself  to  be.  It  appeared,  however,  that  in  the  act- 
ing of  Shylock  his  frequent  close  adherence  to  actual 
life  involved  the  sacrifice  of  a  legitimate  and  desirable 
poetic  exaggeration. 

In  the  street  scene,  after  Shylock  has  heard  of  his 
daughter's  flight,  Shakespeare  authorises  a  torrent  of 
passion,  and,  furthermore,  the  passion  is  explosive. 
Mr.  Irving's  acting,  throughout  this  scene,  is  beauti- 
ful in  its  variety  and  modulation  and  in  its  skilful  use 
of  his  strength  and  adroit  concealment  of  his  weak- 
ness; but  his  method  is  that  of  the  exact  reverse  of 
explosive  passion.  The  current  is  turned  inward.  The 
spectacle  is  like  that  of  breakers  on  a  distant  reef — so 
remote  that  you  cannot  hear  them.  Doubtless  this  is 
the  passion  of  a  man  ;  but  is  it  the  passion  of  this 
particular  man,  at  this  particular  place  ?  Is  it  the  act- 
ually uttered  passion  of  Shylock  ?  Or  is  it  only  the 
artistic  suggestion  of  what  that  utterance  ought  to  be  ? 
Mr.  Irving  has  embellished  the  part  with  abundance 
of  illustrative  "business,"  and  he  has  carried  this 
thoroughness  of  embellishment  into  every  portion  of 
the  play;  and  all  this  artistic  care  tends  toward  the 
structure  and  exposition  of  an  actual  segment  of  human 
life,  which  is  cut  off  and  set  in  a  picture.  The  Prince 
of  Morocco  and  his  dusky  attendants  advance  into  Bel- 


4o  HENRY  IRVING. 

mont,  and  retire  from  Portia's  presence,  to  the  sound  of 
cymbals  and  oriental  music.  Gondolas,  laden  with 
maskers,  flit  to  and  fro  in  the  canals  of  Venice.  Merry 
revellers  troop  through  the  deserted  street,  after  Jes- 
sica and  Lorenzo  have  fled,  and  then  the  lonely  figure 
of  the  Jew,  returning  from  his  supper  of  hatred  with  the 
Christian,  comes  rapidly  across  a  bridge  and  pauses  at 
his  own  door ;  and  so  it  is  seen  that  the  tempest  must 
soon  and  terribly  break,  from  that  despoiled  and  out- 
raged hearth  and  heart.  The  trial  scene  is  full  of 
happy  touches  of  a  realism  that  strictly  harmonises 
with  the  poetry  of  Shakespeare's  conception.  The  use 
of  the  populace  is  excellent.  And  all  tends  to  the  com- 
pleteness of  stage  picture.  A  play  was  never  mere 
carefully  set  than  "The  Merchant  of  Venice"  has 
been  set  by  Mr.  Irving.  But  with  reference  to  the 
exceptional  character  of  Shylock  it  seems  just  to  say 
that  a  more  vivid  poetical  treatment  and  a  more  copi- 
ous and  splendid  outburst,  not  of  rant  but  of  passion 
and  power,  would  stir  the  feelings  more  deeply  than 
any  grace  of  detail  can  ever  do,  and  would  fill  the 
imagination  with  a  sense  of  magnificence  which  other- 
wise is  lost.  Public  acceptance,  touching  such  a  mat- 
ter as  this,  is  inconclusive  —  for  it  accepts  everything. 
There  is  a  true  thought  by  old  George  Villiers  which 
bears  on  acting  as  well  as  on  other  phases  of  human 
endeavour :  "  We  can  no  more  judge  of  the  real  value 
of  a  man  by  the  impression  he  makes  on  the  public 
than  we  can  tell,  from  the  stamp,  whether  the  seal  that 
made  it  was  of  brass  or  gold." 

Mr.  Irving  is  an  actor  who  has  distinct  reasons  for 
his  methods  of  art.  No  thoughtful  observer  will  deny 
that  his  Shylock  is  consistent,  harmonious,  and  natural ; 


HENRY  IRVING. 


4* 


and  it  has  impressed  many  judges  as  superlatively  fine. 
It  will  be  remembered  for  attributes  distinctively  intel- 
lectual :  whereas  his  Mathias  and  Louis  XL  must  live 
in  memory  as  works  of  imagination,  executed  with 
strong  and  fluent  emotion  and  consummate  skill ; 
while  his  Charles  I.  is  an  ideal  of  majesty,  and  has 
the  mellow  colour  and  sombre  richness  of  an  old 
historic  painting. 


VIII 


LESURCLUES    AND    DUBOSC 


NOVEMBER  13th. —  In  1796,  between  Liewesaint 
and  Melun,  in  France,  the  Lyons  mail-coach  was 
set  upon  by  robbers ;  the  postilion  and  courier  were 
shot  and  killed ;  and  the  coach  was  plundered.  The 
leader  of  the  robbers,  the  actual  murderer  who  figured 
in  this  scene  of  crime,  was  a  villain  named  Dubosc. 
An  innocent  man,  Joseph  Lesurques,  who  chanced  to 
bear  a  strong  personal  resemblance  to  this  miscreant, 
was  accused  of  this  crime  and  was  brought  to  trial ; 
and,  partly  by  the  testimony  of  witnesses  who  swore 
directly  to  his  identity  with  the  murderer,  partly  be- 
cause of  the  cruel  precipitancy  of  an  unjust  judge, 
named  Jerome  Gohier,  who  rejected  a  conclusive  alibi 
and  assumed  his  guilt,  he  was  convicted  and  con- 
demned to  death  ;  and  subsequently  he  suffered  upon 
the  scaffold.  He  left  a  widow  and  three  children. 
His  body  was  buried  in  sombre  and  dismal  Pere  La 
Chaise,  near  to  the  famous  tomb  of  Abelard  and 
Heloise,  and  his  grave  is  now  marked  by  a  monument, 
of  white  marble,  bearing  this  inscription  :  "A  la  me- 
moire  de  Joseph  Lesurques,  victime  de  la  plus  deplo- 


42 


HENRY  IRVING.  43 

rable  des  erreurs  humaines.  31  Octobrc,  1796.  Sa 
veuve  et  ses  enfants,  martyrs  tous  deux  sur  la  terre,  tous 
deux  sont  reunis  au  ciel."  Lesurques  left  this  letter, 
addressed  to  the  murderer,  which  was  published  at 
the  time:  "You,  in  whose  stead  lam  about  to  die, 
rest  content  with  the  sacrifice  of  my  life.  If  ever  you 
fall  into  the  hands  of  justice,  think  of  my  children, 
covered  with  disgrace,  and  of  their  mother,  a  prey  to 
despair,  and  do  not  prolong  the  misery  caused  by 
the  fatal  likeness  that  I  bear  to  you."  In  1800  the 
truth  became  known,  and  the  assassin  Dubosc  was 
executed. 

Upon  this  basis  of  facts  the  melodrama  of  "  Le 
Courier  de  Lyon"  was  constructed  and  written  in  1850, 
by  Messrs.  Moreau,  Sevaudin,  and  Delacour,  and  it 
was  produced  at  the  Gaiete  Theatre,  in  Paris,  with 
Lacressoniere  as  Dubosc  and  Lesurques.  Its  success  was 
great,  and  it  has  remained  a  favourite  on  the  French 
stage.  In  the  original  piece  Lesurques  is  led  to  the 
scaffold,  but  when  the  play  was  adapted  for  the  English 
theatre,  in  185 1,  it  was  provided  with  a  happy  conclu- 
sion. A  little  later  Charles  Kean  brought  it  out  at  the 
Princess's  Theatre,  in  London,  using  a  version  made 
by  Charles  Reade,  and  himself  performing  the  double 
part.  In  1877  Mr.  Irving  revived  it,  with  abundant 
success,  at  the  London  Lyceum,  under  the  name  of 
"The  Lyons  Mail,"  and  last  night  he  presented  it 
here,  at  the  Star  Theatre.  It  had  before  been  given 
in  New  York,  but  never  under  favourable  circumstances, 
or  by  an  actor  comparable  with  the  extraordinary  man 
who  now  accomplished  one  of  the  most  surprising  and 
admirable  achievements  in  versatility  and  characterisa- 
tion that  have  been  seen  upon  the  stage. 


44  HENRY  IRVING. 

"The  Lyons  Mail"  is  in  three  acts.  The  first 
shows  the  commission  of  the  crime.  It  is  devoted 
mainly  to  Dubosc.  It  is  made  up  of  exciting  incidents 
and  it  presents  a  fearful  and  ghastly  picture.  Its 
atmosphere  is  that  of  horror  and  suspense,  and  it 
clearly  discloses  the  web  of  fatal  circumstance  in 
which  the  innocent  man  is  deplorably  entangled.  The 
second  act  is  devoted  to  Lesurques,  and  it  shows  the 
rectitude  and  loveliness  of  his  character,  the  gentleness, 
the  firmness,  the  simple  candour  and  nobility  with 
which  he  confronts  a  cruel  and  terrible  fate.  Its 
chief  incident  is  the  rejection  by  him  of  his  father's 
appeal,  that  he  will  avoid  by  suicide  the  disgrace  of  a 
death  upon  the  scaffold.  The  situation  at  this  point 
is  one  of  absorbing  interest.  The  third  act  reverts  to 
Dubosc,  and  presents  him  in  a  scene  of  brutal  de- 
pravity, surveying  from  a  garret  window  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  execution  of  his  double.  The  end  is  his 
disappearance  and  the  almost  instant  entrance  of  the 
vindicated  Lesurques. 

The  subject  of  this  piece  is  horrible ;  but  so  is  the 
subject  of  "Macbeth."  Horror,  like  beauty,  is  a  legiti- 
mate element  of  art,  if  only  it  be  treated  in  an  artistic 
manner.  There  are  aspects  of  human  nature  and  con- 
duct and  of  actual  life  which  ought  never  to  be  described 
or  shown.  But  when,  as  in  this  case,  some  of  the  noblest 
traits  and  finest  feelings  of  humanity  and  some  of  the 
most  dramatic  and  instructive  contrasts  of  character 
can  be  derived  from  the  analysis  and  exposition  of  a 
theme  of  crime,  the  use  of  that  theme,  in  an  intellectual 
and  artistic  way,  is  right ;  and  the  subject  becomes 
elevated  by  the  use  that  is  made  of  it.  Mathias,  in 
"  The  Bells,"  for  example,  is  only  a  burgomaster,  in 


HENRY  IRVING.  45 

an  obscure  village  of  Alsace,  who  has  done  a  mur- 
der. But  Mr.  Irving,  transcending  the  conditions 
supplied  by  the  authors,  personates  Mathias  in  such 
a  way  as  to  lift  him  into  the  domain  of  poetry  and 
make  him  a  character  representative,  as  long  as  the 
stage  shall  possess  a  history  or  art  shall  be  recognised 
among  men,  of  the  action  of  remorse  in  the  human 
soul.  Define  him  as  you  like,  call  him  by  what  name 
you  please,  and  prove  by  invincible  logic  that  he  figures 
in  one  of  the  thinnest  of  plays,  the  fact  remains  that 
this  embodiment  is  worthy  to  stand  among  the  most 
appalling  types  of  human  remorse  that  you  can  sum- 
mon out  of  the  literature  of  the  past.  Manfred  is  not 
more  picturesque,  nor  does  he  suffer  more,  nor  does 
he  impart  a  more  significant  moral  lesson  —  notwith- 
standing his  sublime  surroundings  and  his  magnificent 
blank  verse. 

So  in  "  The  Lyons  Mail,"  which  simply  shows  how 
near  an  innocent  man  came  to  being  sacrificed  for  the 
crime  of  an  abominable  savage,  the  actor  has,  in  still 
another  way,  elevated  the  theme.  This  time  it  is  by  the 
astonishing  amplitude  of  the  various  nature  that  he  has 
poured  into  a  common  dramatic  mould.  The  piece 
counts  for  little.  If  Dubosc  and  Lesurques  were  cast  to 
different  players  and  all  the  parts  were  acted  with 
average  merit  upon  the  peaceful  level  of  mediocrity, 
it  probably  would  count  for  nothing.  If  Mr.  Irving 
were  to  appear  simply  as  Dubosc  he  would  only  make 
dramatic  art  tributary  to  the  showing  of  a  monster; 
and  that  would  be  useless  and  wrong.  By  treating  the 
piece  with  intellectual  earnestness  and  with  perfect 
refinement  of  touch,  and  by  playing  both  Lesurqtces 
and  Dubosc  entirely  well*,  he  gives  pathetic  reality  to  a 


46  HENRY  IRVING. 

fearful  human  experience ;  he  denotes  the  almost  in- 
credible variety  of  attributes'  which,  by  intuition  and 
imagination,  may  be  circumscribed  within  one  and  the 
same  human  being;  and  he  affords  a  singularly  bril- 
liant illustration  of  the  actor's  art.  In  this  latter  par- 
ticular the  performance  has  an  instructive  value  which 
ought  especially  to  be  recognised.  Spectators  of  stage- 
art  have  too  much  the  habit  of  thinking  that  an  actor 
does  no  more,  and  can  do  no  more,  than  what  has  been 
laid  out  for  him  to  do  by  the  dramatic  author.  Hence 
it  is  that  judgment  is  so  often  expended  upon  the  litera- 
ture of  a  play  instead  of  the  acting.  Hence  when  an 
actor  plays  Hamlet  or  Lear  his  auditors  are  so  often  lost 
in  the  everlasting  inquiry  as  to  what  Shakespeare  meant. 
Hence  the  common  injustice  of  measuring  an  actor's 
essentially  dramatic  faculties  and  skill  by  exclusive  ref- 
erence to  the  question  of  his  fidelity  to  the  author.  Mr. 
Irving  —  like  M.  Coquelin  on  the  French  stage,  and 
like  Mr.  Jefferson  on  our  own  —  has,  all  along,  been 
remarkable  for  his  insistence  upon  what  the  actor  gives 
to  the  character  that  he  assumes  and  the  subject  that 
he  treats.  Anybody  can  stand  and  repeat  the  grand 
soliloquies  of  Macbeth  ;  but  the  actor  must  present 
Macbeth  in  physical  person,  with  all  the  fire  of  his 
wicked,  towering  ambition  and  all  the  passion  and  con- 
flict of  his  fiend-haunted  soul  crystallised  in  a  distinct 
and  positive  body.  It  is  what  Mr.  Irving  himself  has 
done  with  his  various  characters  —  his  getting  inside 
of  them  and  making  them  live  as  actual  men  —  that 
shows  his  superlative  excellence  as  an  actor.  And  he 
will  largely  benefit  the  public  in  this  country  if  he 
should  help  to  teach  it,  in  looking  at  acting,  to  lay 
aside  for  a  while  the  "book  of  the  play,"  and  not  to 


HENRY  IRVING.  47 

suppose  that  everything  depends  upon  correct  punctua- 
tion. It  is  not  meant  that  an  actor  shall  be  accounted 
right  who  begins  by  undertaking  to  present  King 
Lear  and  ends  by  presenting  King  John;  but  that 
the  actor  must  embody  characters  with  something  of 
himself  and  according  to  known  and  undeniable  stand- 
ards of  human  nature.  "After  the  nicest  strokes 
of  a  Shakespeare,  a  Jonson,  of  a  Wycherley  or  an 
Otway,"  says  Fielding  (in  "Tom  Jones"),  "some 
touches  of  nature  will  escape  the  reader,  which  the 
judicious  action  of  a  Garrick,  of  a  Cibber,  or  of  a 
Clive,  can  convey  to  him." 

A  finer  exemplification  of  abstract  dramatic  faculty 
than  this  which  Mr.  Irving  gives  in  "The  Lyons  Mail  " 
is  not  within  remembrance.  The  callous  villain  Dubosc, 
with  his  hideously  expeditious  ways  and  his  grotesque 
humour,  can  never  be  forgotten.  The  action  of  turning 
over  the  corpse,  to  rifle  its  pockets,  would  alone  have 
sufficed  to  bespeak  an  artist.  There  are  many  deft 
touches  like  this,  in  the  work,  and  they  make  it  a  per- 
fect showing  of  a  hideous  ruffian.  The  manly  fidelity, 
simple  pathos,  and  lofty  heroism  of  the  character  of 
Lesurques  were  conveyed  with  the  same  truth  and  with 
touching  sincerity.  The  farewell  to  the  daughter  in 
the  prison  created  an  effect  of  passionate  sorrow,  and 
was,  indeed,  expressed  with  tenderness  and  manly 
strength.  The  almost  instantaneous  changes  create  an 
effect  of  astonishment :  but  this  is  only  an  ancient  ex- 
pedient of  theatrical  celerity.  The  truly  astonishing 
and  impressive  thing  is  the  instant  change  made  by 
the  actor,  not  merely  in  external  appearance  but  in 
the  moral  nature  and  the  distinguishing  mental  attri- 
butes.    After  all  the   brutal  wickedness  of  Du&osc's 


48  HENRY  IRVING. 

garret  scene  —  a  terrific  exhibition  of  insensate  besti- 
ality—  he  comes  forth,  in  one  moment-,  tranquil,  noble, 
gentle,  the  image  of  devout  virtue  that  has  felt  the  win- 
nowing of  the  wings  of  death  and  is  humbly  and  grate- 
fully triumphant  over  danger  and  misery. 

Miss  Ellen  Terry  acted  Janette.  It  is  a  little  part, 
but  every  opportunity  that  it  provides  was  improved. 
Miss  Terry's  personality  is  invested  with  a  spiritual 
quality  which  makes  her  inharmonious  with  such  dra- 
matic conditions  as  those  of  this  character.  Yet  it 
is  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  a  sweet,  fragile,  lovely 
woman  infatuated  with  a  human  brute. 


IX 


THE   BELLE'S   STRATAGEM. 


NOVEMBER  20th.— Last  night,  after  a  repetition 
of  the  sombre  drama  of  "  The  Bells,"  in  which 
Mr.  Irving  again  presented  his  impressive  psycholog- 
ical study  of  remorse,  in  the  character  and  experience 
of  Matkias,  Mrs.  Cowley's  comedy  of  "  The  Belle's 
Stratagem,"  reduced  to  two  acts,  was  presented,  with 
Miss  Ellen  Terry  as  Letitia  Hardy  and  Mr.  Irving  as 
Doricourt.  The  performance  of  this  old  work  in  seven 
brief  and  rapid  scenes  proved  more  enjoyable  than  the 
representation  of  it  in  all  its  acts  has  commonly  been. 
It  was  shorter  and  it  was  pungent  and  pointed.  There 
is,  to  be  sure,  a  sacrifice  of  clearness  and  coherence, 
and  the  comedy  becomes  farcical ;  but  the  quintessence 
of  the  characters  and  of  the  fun  is  preserved,  and  this 
suffices  for  Mr.  Irving's  purpose. 

Doricourt  and  Letitia  Hardy  are  familiar  acquaint- 
ances. The  former  is  Mrs.  Cowley's  dilution  of  Con- 
greve's  Valentine  in  "Love  for  Love,"  and  the  latter 
is  her  echo  of  Arthur  Murphy's  Maria  in  "  The  Citi- 
zen." A  girl  who  masquerades  in  order  to  bewitch  or 
cajole  or  mystify  her  lover  is  one  of  the  usual  figures 
6  49 


50  HENRY  IRVING. 

in  the  old  plays.  Letitia  Hardy  is  this  type,  and  doubt- 
less as  good  as  any  representative  of  womanly  piquancy 
that  could  readily  be  found  for  the  practical  purposes 
of  stage  illustration.  She  has  sentiment  and  tender- 
ness, but  the  essential  fibre  in  her  character  is  glit- 
tering gaiety.  She  can  love  and  be  sincere,  but  she 
will  begin  by  teasing  and  tantalising.  Miss  Ellen 
Terry,  with  her  buoyant  and  sparkling  frenzy  (there  is 
no  fitter  word  with  which  to  denote  her  essential  char- 
acteristic), is  here  suited  with  an  identity  into  which 
her  own  nature  can  abundantly  flow.  She  suffused  the 
earlier  scenes  with  a  fine  petulance  and  a  high-bred  dis- 
tinction, touched  with  the  pretty,  pouting,  mischievous 
wilfulness  of  a  wayward  child.  She  carried  the  hoyden 
scene  with  abundant  animal  spirits  and  a  delicious  spon- 
taneity of  archness,  drollery,  and  downright  broad  hu- 
mour—  which,  however,  never  passed  across  the  line  of 
refinement.  The  offence  was  given  to  manners  and 
taste,  but  not  to  morals  or  to  the  heart.  In  the  minuet 
she  was  a  vision  of  swan-like  elegance,  grace,  and  woman- 
like fascination  —  a  true  type  of  elegant,  tantalising, 
high-bred  coquetry.  The  rich  and  flexible  delivery  of 
the  text,  so  full  of  light  and  shadow,  and  as  various  as 
the  ripple  of  running  water,  added  to  the  charm  of  this 
work,  and  made  it  one  of  the  most  finished  bits  of  com- 
edy that  have  been  set  upon  our  stage.  Miss  Terry, 
at  the  singing  of  "Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty 
maid  ? "  carried  the  house  completely  away  from  all 
sobriety  of  judgment. 

Mr.  Irving's  good  qualities  in  Doricourt  were  seen 
to  be  a  superb  aristocratical  elegance,  perfect  manners 
and  costume,  and  a  fine  dexterity  in  treating  the  some- 
what trivial   incidents   amid  which   the   character  is 


HENRY  IRVING.  51 

exhibited.  His  Doricourt  has  a  distinct  individuality, 
being  a  luxurious,  polished  man  of  the  world,  well 
contented  with  himself,  ardent  if  not  passionate,  and 
capable  of  serious,  manly  feeling  and  conduct,  though 
generally  self-indulgent  and  volatile.  But  there  is  in 
Mr.  Irving  himself  an  intellectual  elevation,  and  his 
person,  face,  and  manner  are  characterised  by  a  ro- 
mantic strangeness  and  sombre  quality  of  thought, 
which  make  him  inconsistent  with  such  an  ideal 
as  Doricourt.  He  wins  admiration,  accordingly,  less 
for  actually  impersonating  this  part — for  merging 
himself  into  it,  and  carrying  it  with  dash  and  sparkle 
—  than  for  the  proficiency  with  which  he  indicates  its 
texture  and  significance.  His  crisp  delivery  of  the 
text,  particularly  in  the  "aside"  speeches  and  when 
a  dash  of  satire  is  essential,  will  be  remembered  as 
especially  felicitous.  Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry  were 
called  before  the  curtain  seven  times  in  the  course  of 
the  night.  Mr.  Terriss  presented  a  capital  Flutter, — 
alert,  easy,  garrulous,  incessant,  comical,  a  true  and 
amusing  type  of  mendacious  vacuity ;  but  the  part  is 
reduced  to  a  sketch. 

* 

All  that  has  been  said  in  recognition  of  Mr.  Irving's 
intellectual  leadership,  and  of  his  puissant  and  thorough 
method  of  dramatic  art,  was  justified  by  his  imperson- 
ation of  Louis  XI,  given  yesterday  afternoon,  Novem- 
ber 20th,  before  an  audience  mainly  composed  of  actors. 
He  has  not,  since  the  remarkable  occasion  of  his  advent 
in  America,  acted  with  such  a  noble  affluence  of  power 
as  he  displayed  in  this  effort.  It  was  not  only  an  expres- 
sion, vivid  and  profound,  of  the  intricate,  grisly,  and 


52  HENRY  IRVING. 

terrible  nature  of  King  Louis;  it  was  a  disclosure  of 
manifold  artistic  resources,  the  fine  intuition,  the  re- 
pose, and  the  commanding  intellectual  energy  of  the 
actor  himself.  An  intellectual  audience  —  alert,  re- 
sponsive, quick  to  see  the  intention  and  to  recognise 
each  point,  however  subtle  and  delicate,  of  the  actor's 
art  —  seemed  to  awaken  all  his  latent  fire  and  nerve 
him  to  a  free  and  bounteous  utterance  of  his  own  spirit. 
More  than  one  scene  was  interrupted  by  the  uncon- 
trollable enthusiasm  of  the  house,  and  eight  times  in 
the  course  of  the  performance  Mr.  Irving  was  re-called. 
A  kindred  excitement  was  communicated  to  the  other 
actors,  and  an  unusual  spirit  of  emulation  pervaded  the 
company.  Mr.  Mead,  as  the  old  monk,  set  forth  a  work 
mediaeval  in  tone,  replete  with  ecclesiastical  dignity,  and 
borne  along  with  weight  of  genuine  character  and  much 
felicity  of  vocal  power.  The  audience  and  the  per- 
formance made  up  a  memorable  scene. 


X 


SOURCES    OF    STRENGTH. 


NOVEMBER  25th.  —  Mr.  Irving's  first  engagement 
in  New-York  was  ended  last  night.  The  four 
weeks  during  which  he  has  acted  at  the  Star  Theatre 
have  been,  to  students  and  lovers  of  the  dramatic 
art,  pleasant  and  beneficial.  Much  has  been  enjoyed 
and  something  has  been  learned.  Above  all,  the 
exercise  of  thought  has  been  compelled — and  that 
is  always  a  blessing.  There  have  been  twenty- 
nine  performances,  presenting,  in  succession,  "  The 
Bells,"  "Charles  I.,"  "Louis  XL,"  "  The  Merchant 
of  Venice,"  "The  Lyons  Mail,"  "The  Belle's  Strat- 
agem "  (in  Two  Acts),  a  single  Act  of  "  Richard  III.," 
and  a  recitation  of  Thomas  Hood's  poem  "  The  Dream 
of  Eugene  Aram."  Mr.  Irving  has  been  seen  in  Ma- 
thias,  Charles  L.,  Louis  XL,  Shy  lock,  Lesurques,  Du- 
bosc,  Doricourt,  Gloster,  and  Aram.  Miss  Ellen  Terry 
has  appeared  as  Queen  Henrietta,  Portia,  Janette, 
and  Letitia  Hardy.  Conspicuous  successes  have  been 
gained  by  Mr.  Terriss,  Mr.  Mead,  Mr.  Wenman,  Mr. 
Tyars,  Mr.  Archer,  Mr.  Howe,  Mr.  Andrews,  and 
Miss  Milward.  It  has  been  a  time  of  earnest,  reso- 
6*  53 


54  HENRY  IRVING. 

lute,  ambitious,  adequate  effort,  upon  the  stage,  and 
of  quick  appreciation  and  enthusiasm  in  front  of  it. 
The  Irving  engagement  marks  an  epoch  in  the  history 
of  the  American  theatre.  The  prosperity  of  the  dra- 
matic art  receives  from  it  an  extraordinary  impetus, 
and  it  will  be  attended  with  consequences  far-reaching 
and  valuable,  both  on  the  stage  and  in  the  public  mind. 
The  reason  of  this  is  obvious  —  or  ought  to  be  —  to 
all  who  have  thoughtfully  followed  Mr.  Irving's  per- 
formances. It  is  no  new  doctrine  that  a  good  actor 
should  be  surrounded  with  good  actors;  that  every 
part  in  a  play  should  be  judiciously  cast;  that  every 
play  should  be  set  in  appropriate  and  rational  scenery, 
so  as  to  create  and  sustain  an  illusion  of  reality ;  and 
that  careful  attention  should  be  given,  in  every  dra- 
matic performance,  to  the  details  of  dress  and  adjuncts, 
to  form,  colour,  coherence,  probability,  and  all  kindred 
essentials  that  blend  to  make  the  rounded  and  com- 
plete picture.  This  idea  has  been  formulated  before 
now,  and  practically  pursued,  in  many  theatres  of 
America.  Yet  its  actual  prevalence  has  not  been  usual 
or  invariable,  and  no  tragedian  of  our  time  has  been 
so  successful  as  Mr.  Irving  in  obtaining  and  holding, 
in  permanent  organisation,  precisely  the  right  persons 
and  appliances  requisite  to  the  attainment  of  this 
result.  All  that  he  has  done  has  been  completely 
done,  and  therefore  each  performance  has  possessed 
the  interest  and  vitality  of  truth.  To  look  back  upon 
the  series  of  pictures  that  he  has  presented  is  to  be 
impressed,  almost  with  amazement,  at  the  reality  of 
them  —  at  the  remembered  glamour  of  illusion  which, 
while  those  pictures  were  passing  before  our  eyes, 
made  us  oblivious  of  the  stage,  and  aware  only  of 


HENRY  IRVING. 


55 


what  were  persons,  places,  and  events  of  actual  human 
life.     Furthermore  —  which  is  another  element  in  the 
reason  of  Mr.  Irving's  triumph  —  his  completeness  has 
been  irradiated  with  glowing  enthusiasm.     Upon  most 
intellectual  men,  in  this  utilitarian,  critical,  and  expe- 
ditious age,  sooner  or  later  there  falls  a  blight  of  lan- 
guor and  dejection.     They  weary  of  well-doing  ;  they 
droop  into   apathy,  sometimes   into   bitterness ;    and 
they  cease  to  insist  upon  the  enforcement  of  ideas. 
Mr.  Irving,  thus  far,  has  escaped  this  too  common 
experience.     His  spirit  still  remains  eager,  hopeful, 
buoyant,  and  resolute  —  the  spirit  of  a  man  interested 
in  his  time  and  his  avocation,  sympathetic  with  the 
abounding  life  which  surrounds  him,  and  impelled  by 
"the   fixed   persuasion    of  success."     That   forceful, 
alert,  and  intrepid  vitality,  guided  by  a  fine  intellect 
and  a  true  taste,  evokes  the  response  of  pleased  at- 
tention and  eager  interest.    Life  responds  to  life.     No 
spectator  of  Mr.  Irving's  performances  could  possibly 
miss  in  them  the   consciousness  of  liberated   power. 
The  sense  of  defeat  and  sorrow  has  not  been  exhaled 
by  them.      Something   has  been  attempted.     Some- 
thing has  been  done.     Right  or  wrong,  achievement 
has  been  suffused  with  fire  and  with  light  —  and  that 
way  lies  the  conquest  of  the  sympathies  of  this  world. 

It  is  not  possible  to  specify  and  catalogue  the  several 
attributes  of  a  human  soul.  A  few  of  the  spiritual  facts, 
however,  are  visible,  and  it  remains  to  be  said  that  two 
other  elements  in  the  reason  of  Mr.  Irving's  success  are, 
personal  charm  and  a  felicitous  naturalness  of  method. 
In  any  situation  of  life  the  personality  of  this  actor 
would  give  the  impression  of  something  strange,  excep- 
tional,   and,    in  various  ways,    attractive.      In   other 


56  HENRY  IRVING. 

words,  he  is  a  man  of  genius  ;  and,  on  whatsoever  line 
of  thought  he  might  manifest  his  powers,  their  mani- 
festation would  inevitably  be  attended  with  originality 
and  allurement.  He  has  impersonated  here  nine  dif- 
ferent men  —  each  one  distinct  from  all  the  others. 
That  is  a  practical  exercise  of  the  art  of  acting.  Yet 
in  doing  this  he  has  never  ceased  to  exert  one  and  the 
same  personal  charm  —  the  charm  of  genialised  intel- 
lect. The  soul  that  is  within  the  man  has  suffused  his 
art  and  made  it  victorious.  The  same  forms  of  expres- 
sion, lacking  this  spirit,  would  have  lacked  the  triumph. 
All  of  them,  indeed,  are  not  equally  fine.  Mr.  Irving's 
Mathias  and  Louis  XI.  are  higher  performances  than 
his  Shy  lock  and  Doricourt — higher  in  imaginative  tone 
and  in  adequacy  of  feeling  and  treatment.  But, 
throughout  all  these  forms,  the  drift  of  his  spirit,  set- 
ting boldly  away  from  conventions  and  formalities,  has 
been  manifested  with  delightful  results.  He  has  always 
seemed  to  be  alive  with  the  specific  vitality  of  the  per- 
son represented.  He  has  never  seemed  to  be  a  wooden 
puppet  of  the  stage,  bound  in  by  formality  and  strain- 
ing after  a  vague  scholastic  ideal  of  technical  correctness. 
This  is  the  naturalness  of  his  method,  and  this  is  per- 
fect mechanism  —  if  it  be  not  carried  too  far.  With 
his  ideals  —  with  what  was  seen  to  be  passing  in  his 
mind  —  it  has  not  been  possible  in  any  instance 
much  to  disagree.  His  limitations  are  found  in  the 
physical  mediums  of  expression,  and  in  the  realm  of 
what  may,  perhaps,  be  suggested,  if  not  described,  as 
the  overwhelming  ecstasy  or  frenzy  of  the  passions. 
He  belongs  to  the  traditions  of  Kemble  and  Macready, 
rather  than  to  those  of  Garrick  and  Edmund  Kean. 
Yet  he  is  distinct  from  both  of  his  artistic  ancestors, 


HENRY  IRVING.  57 

and  in  some  ways  he  has  gone  beyond  them.  In  that 
field  which  may  be  called  weird,  picturesque,  romantic, 
in  the  slow  vivisection  of  piteous  human  misery,  his 
figure  stands  apart  from  all  others  —  lonely  and  alone. 
The  performance  of  last  night  strengthened,  without 
changing,  the  impressions  already  made  and  stated. 
The  simulated  fervour  and  the  sardonic  satire  that  are 
characteristic  of  Shakespeare's  Richard  III,  Mr.  Irving 
indicates  with  precision.  He  appeared  in  only  the  first 
act  of  the  tragedy,  which  is  mainly  devoted  to  that 
unnatural  scene  of  Gloster's  wooing  of  the  widowed 
Lady  Anne.  His  recital  of  "Eugene  Aram"  was 
acted  remorse,  fluent,  flexible,  eloquent,  passionate, 
and  very  melodious. 


Immediately  before  the  recital  of  "  Eugene  Aram," 
Mr.  Irving  addressed  his  audience,  as  follows : 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  I  should  be  unjust  to 
myself  if  I  were  to  allow  this  moment  to  pass  without 
at  least  endeavouring  to  express  my  gratitude  for  your 
great  kindness  to  my  comrades  and  myself.  When  I 
stood  here  for  the  first  time,  about  a  month  ago,  I  ven- 
tured to  express  the  hope  (encouraged  by  your  gener- 
ous applause)  that  '  our  loves  might  increase  even  as 
our  days  do  grow.'  You,  upon  your  part,  have  fulfilled 
our  highest  anticipations.  I  also  bespoke  your  consider- 
ation for  my  sister  artist,  Miss  Ellen  Terry,  saying  that 
she  would  win  your  hearts ;  and  I  believe  I  am  not 
wrong,  to-night,  in  thinking  that  she  has  done  so.  We 
all  regret  that  our  stay  with  you  is  not  longer- — that  it 
is  not  months  instead  of  weeks.  But  I  am  not  here  to 
bid  you  farewell.     I  will  only  say  au  revoir.     We  ex- 


58 


HENRY  IRVING. 


pect  to  appear  before  you  again  next  April,  when  we 
shall  present  '  Much  Ado  '  and  '  Hamlet.'  These  plays 
were  received  with  favour  in  our  old  home  beyond 
the  sea,  and  we  trust  they  will  be  received  with  equal 
kindness  in  what  I  will  venture  to  call  our  new  home 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  I  can  do  but  little  to  ex- 
press, in  behalf  of  my  associates  and  in  my  own  behalf, 
the  gratitude  that  we  feel  toward  the  public  of  New- 
York.  Could  I  say  more  I  should  feel  less.  We  have 
been  happy  in  your  society  and  we  leave  you  with  nat- 
ural regret." 


-^#^^s* 


-  r-  * 


V  '. 


' 


XI 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


APRIL  ist,  1884. — The  excitement  of  that  cheerful 
October  evening,  last  year,  when  Henry  Irving 
made  his  first  appearance  in  New  York,  was  repeated 
last  night,  at  the  Star  Theatre,  where  "Much  Ado 
About  Nothing"  was  presented,  and  where  Mr.  Irving 
and  Miss  Terry  effected  their  reentrance,  and  were 
welcomed  by  a  brilliant  company,  with  the  heartiest 
admiration  and  goodwill.  The  scene,  indeed,  was 
one  of  unusual  brightness  and  enjoyment,  both  before 
the  curtain  and  upon  the  stage.  The  applause,  upon 
the  entrance  of  Beatrice, —  a  rare  vision  of  imperial 
yet  gentle  beauty !  —  broke  forth  impetuously  and 
continued  long ;  and  upon  the  subsequent  entrance  of 
Benedick  it  rose  into  a  storm  of  gladness  and  welcome. 
Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry  —  received  here,  at  the 
outset,  six  months  ago,  more  as  old  friends  than  as 
strangers  —  have  now  firmly  established  themselves  in 
the  admiration  and  esteem  of  the  American  audience ; 
and,  whatever  difference  of  opinion  may  exist  as  to  the 
aptitude  or  felicity  of  either  of  them,  in  any  specific 
character,  there  is  neither  denial  nor  doubt  of  their 


59 


6o 


HENRY  IRVING. 


sterling  ability,  achievements,  and  merits.  They  have 
become  a  portion  of  our  pleasant,  instructive,  and 
valuable  experience ;  and,  since  the  American  stage 
is  cosmopolitan,  they  doubtless  will  long  retain  their 
place  among  the  forces  whence  our  culture  as  a  peo- 
ple is  stimulated  and  refreshed.  The  circumstances 
which  attended  their  reentrance  were  confirmatory 
of  their  permanent  success  and  auspicious  for  their 
future. 

"Much  Ado"  had  not  before  been  given  in  New- 
York  by  Mr.  Irving,  but  it  had  been  given  by  him  in 
other  cities,  and  the  rosy  accounts  of  it  sent  from  those 
cities  had  inspired  a  lively  anticipation  as  to  its  general 
presentment,  and  as  to  the  acting  of  Mr.  Irving  and 
Miss  Terry  in  Benedick  and  Beatrice.  This  anticipa- 
tion was  fulfilled.  The  scenic  exposition  of  the  piece 
was  elaborate,  sufficiently  correct,  and  often  beautiful. 
"  The  inside  of  a  church,"  as  Shakespeare  calls  it,  with 
his  excellent  directness,  was  one  of  the  most  imposing 
sets  that  have  been  displayed.  The  cast  was  the  same, 
in  many  features,  with  which  Mr.  Irving  revived  this 
comedy  at  the  London  Lyceum,  on  October  nth,  1882, 
and  the  acting,  throughout,  was  careful,  even,  and 
harmonious,  as  well  in  the  subsidiary  parts  as  in  the 
principals. 

Extended  comment  on  the  comedy  of  "  Much  Ado" 
is  not  requisite  here.  To  traverse  that  familiar  field 
must  necessarily  be  to  walk  again  in  the  path  that 
many  footsteps  have  already  made.  The  piece  was 
written  at  what  seems  to  have  been  the  happiest 
period  of  Shakespeare's  life — the  period  when  also 
he  produced  "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  and 
"The  Merchant  of  Venice."     To  the  analytic  mind 


HENRY  IRVING.  61 

"  Much  Ado "  is  especially  interesting  as  showing 
the  maturity  of  Shakespeare's  humour,  his  power  to 
contemplate  life  in  the  objective  point  of  view,  and  to 
portray  it  as  if  seen  from  above,  with  all  its  contrarie- 
ties and  all  its  lights  and  shadows.  To  such  a  student 
the  comedy  is  impressive,  also,  as  showing  the  trans- 
figuring power  of  Shakespeare's  artistic  skill  and  the 
fertile  wealth  of  his  invention ;  for  in  this  piece  he 
made  an  old  story  new  by  his  treatment  of  it,  and  he 
invented  Benedick  and  Beatrice,  Dogberry  and  Verges, 
and  all  that  relates  to  them  —  a  remarkable  feat  of 
literary  creation. 

Upon  Mr.  Irving's  impersonation  of  Benedick  it  is 
not  easy  to  form  a  precise  judgment.  The  per- 
formance is  interesting  and  charming.  The  actor's 
personal  singularity  and  the  peculiarities  of  his  histri- 
onic method  do  not  detract  from  its  charm :  on  the 
contrary,  they  give  it  piquancy  and  make  it  unique. 
His  way  is  his  own  way,  and  it  is  richly  fraught  with 
high-bred  ease,  intellectual  repose,  and  demure  grav- 
ity. He  speaks  the  soliloquies,  to  be  sure,  more  with 
the  author's  appreciation  of  them  than  with  the  air  of 
the  impersonator;  but  he  banters  and  fences  nimbly 
with  the  provoking  Beatrice,  and  his  demeanor  in  the 
challenge  scene  is  resolute,  dignified,  simple,  and 
rightly  touched  with  a  tone  of  dangerous  menace.  It 
is  a  certain  moral  and  mental  exaltation  in  his  ideal  of 
the  part,  combined  with  a  sequent  quietude  or  lack 
of  dash  in  his  execution,  that  perplex  judgment,  and 
make  it  difficult  for  an  observer  to  determine  whether 
this  is  Shakespeare's  Benedick  or  a  glorification  of  it. 
Whichever  it  be,  it  is  a  rich  display  of  the  art  which 
an  actor  should  peculiarly  possess  —  the  art  to  invest 
7 


62  HENRY  IRVING. 

a  fanciful  conception  with  a  natural  body  —  and  it  is 
full  of  pleasure  for  those  who  see  it. 

The  manner  characteristic  of  Benedick,  as  Shake- 
speare has  drawn  him,  is  a  buoyant,  brilliant,  dashing, 
aggressive  manner,  largely  based  on  well-nurtured 
animalism.  He  is  not  a  man  of  sentiment  and  there 
is  no  romance  in  his  nature.  Of  his  satirical  percep- 
tion and  amused  contempt  of  the  romantic,  love-lorn 
swain,  his  "  Poor,  hurt  fowl !  now  will  he  creep  into 
sedges "  is  exceedingly  significant.  Before  he  loves 
Beatrice  he  has  avowed  the  ideas  and  feelings  and  he 
has  implied  the  customs  of  a  sensual  rover;  and  when 
at  last  he  does  come  really  to  love  her — being  tan- 
talised, nettled,  and  stung  into  the  passion  by  her 
taunting  indifference,  her  indomitable  mirth,  her  bold, 
brilliant,  physical  beauty,  and  her  almost  insolent 
wit  —  his  love  stands  at  the  furthest  possible  remove 
from  anything  like  spiritual  rapture  or  any  sweet  tu- 
mult whatsoever.  It  is  a  jubilant,  militant,  self-con- 
fident love,  and  were  it  scorned  and  repulsed  the  lover 
would  still  remain  unhurt.  Henry  V.,  in  his  wooing  of 
his  French  Kate,  is  not  further  away  from  the  mood 
of  Romeo  than  Benedick  is,  in  his  wooing  of  Beatrice. 
"  From  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot," 
says  Don  Pedro,  "he  is  all  mirth:  what  his  heart 
thinks  his  tongue  speaks."  The  thought  which  should 
prompt  caution  as  to  positive  definition  of  Benedick, 
however, — or  as  to  positive  definition  of  Beatrice, 
either, —  is  the  thought  that  they  may,  perhaps,  have 
been  designed  as  pretenders  to  heartlessness,  each  in- 
tuitively suspecting  the  other,  in  this  particular.  They 
are  very  similar. 


HENRY  IRVING.  63 

Mr.  Irving's  humour  may,  perhaps,  be  best  defined 
as  subtle  playfulness.  In  Louis  XL  it  is  the  grisly 
playfulness  of  the  sick  panther.  In  Doricourt  it  is  the 
mocking  playfulness  of  the  accomplished  and  fastidious 
gentleman.  In  Richard  III.  it  is  the  heartless,  sar- 
donic, cruel  playfulness  of  the  astute,  hypocritical  vil- 
lain. In  Dubosc  it  is  the  cold,  depraved,  hideous 
playfulness  of  the  insensate,  swaggering  ruffian.  In 
each  case  it  is  playfulness  —  which,  of  course,  may  be 
either  amiable  or  baleful  —  and  it  is  invariably  subtle. 
It  is  not  the  humour  that  laughs  and  shakes ;  it  is  the 
humour  that  smiles ;  and  whether  the  smile  shall  be 
pleasant  or  unpleasant  must  depend  upon  the  quality 
of  the  character  out  of  which  the  humour  is  derived. 
Such  humour  may  surprise  and  gratify  a  spectator,  but 
it  seldom  or  never  can  rejoice  him.  The  word  "  amus- 
ing "  seems  a  strange  word  to  apply  to  either  Dubosc 
or  Louis  XL.;  but  the  most  amusing  moments  that 
have  been  provided  by  the  acting  of  Mr.  Irving,  thus 
far,  in  America,  have  been  provided  in  those  char- 
acters. 

His  Benedick,  to  be  sure,  amuses,  but  it  is  less  amus- 
ing than  charming.  In  this  part  his  playfulness  reap- 
pears under  still  another  guise,  and  is  the  playfulness 
of  an  odd,  quaint  fellow,  eccentric  although  elegant, 
and,  although  volatile  and  nimble  on  occasion,  mostly 
observant,  quizzical,  fond  of  sagacious  rumination,  and 
slightly  saturnine.  If  this  is  Shakespeare's  Benedick, 
Mr.  Irving  has  exactly  reproduced  him.  If  not,  he  has 
exalted  him,  intellectually  and  by  personal  traits,  to  a 
place  among  the  gentle  and  sprightly  satirical  thinkers 
of  the  Shakesperean  world.     And  this,  perhaps,  ex- 


64  HENRY  IRVING. 

presses  his  real  achievement  —  that  he  has  substituted 
a  complex  nature,  based  on  goodness,  merrily  pretend- 
ing to  cynicism,  and  having  rich  reserves,  for  the  dash- 
ing, predominant,  sonorous,  gallant  known  since 
Charles  Kemble's  day  as  the  Benedick  of  the  stage. 

There  are  certain  lines  of  the  play  which  spring  into 
the  memory  of  every  reader  of  "  Much  Ado,"  the  mo- 
ment Beatrice  is  mentioned ;  and  they  help  to  elucidate 
her  character.  "A  star  danced,"  she  says,  "and 
under  that  was  I  born.  .  .  I  thank  my  heart,  poor 
fool,  it  keeps  on  the  windy  side  of  care.  .  .  I  was 
born  to  speak  all  mirth  and  no  matter.  .  .  I  have 
a  good  eye,  uncle,  I  can  see  a  church  by  daylight.  .  . 
I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow  than  a  man 
swear  he  loves  me."  And  Hero,  who  knows  her  best 
and  loves  her  most,  declares  that  "her  spirits  are  as 
coy  and  wild  as  haggards  of  the  rock.  Disdain  and 
scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes,  misprizing  what  they 
look  on." 

So  far  as  a  woman  can  be  understood  at  all  Beatrice 
has  commonly  been  understood  as  the  image  and  es- 
sence of  flippant  vivacity,  strong,  bold,  brilliant,  exult- 
ant, but  untender  and  devoid  of  woman-like  gentleness. 
She  is  a  female  Benedick,  but,  like  Benedick,  she  is 
sound  and  wholesome  at  heart.  If  she  has  not  the 
softness  of  her  sex,  neither  has  she  its  weakness,  its 
conventionality,  its  fickleness,  nor  is  there  any  ro- 
mantic element  in  her  nature.  When  once  it  is 
touched  her  heart  will  glow  with  generous  warmth, 
but  her  sense  is  paramount  to  her  sentiment,  and  a 
passionate  resentment  of  injustice,  where  her  family 
affections  are  concerned,  is  the  deepest  feeling  that  she 
displays  ;  for  at  the  very  moment  when  she  owns  her 


HENRY  IRVING.  65 

love  for  Benedick  she  pledges  him  to  risk  his  life  in  a 
duel  in  behalf  of  another  woman; 

Miss  Terry's  art  is  kindred  with  that  of  Mr.  Irving, 
and  her  success  was  of  the  same  description.  She  per- 
meates the  raillery  of  Beatrice  with  an  indescribable 
charm  of  mischievous  sweetness.  The  silver  arrows  of 
her  pungent  wit  have  no  barb  —  for  evidently  she  does 
not  mean  that  they  shall  really  wound.  Her  appear- 
ance and  carriage  are  beautiful,  and  her  tones  melt 
into  music.  There  is  no  hint  of  the  virago  here,  and 
even  the  tone  of  sarcasm  is  superficial.  Archness  play- 
ing over  kindness  is  the  leading  characteristic  of  Miss 
Terry's  ideal  of  Beatrice.  She  is  nothing  harsher  than 
a  merry  tease,  and  in  the  soliloquy  after  the  arbor 
scene  she  drops  all  flippancy  and  glows  into  tender  and 
loving  womanhood.  A  more  fascinating  personality 
than  this  Beatrice  could  not  be  wished ;  and  Miss 
Terry's  method  of  expressing  it  is  marked  with  pliant, 
effortless  power  and  absolute  simplicity. 

In  these  impersonations,  Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry 
apparently  have  chosen  —  partly  with  conscious  design 
and  partly  under  the  stress  of  inexorable  tempera- 
mental conditions  —  to  transfigure  rather  than  literally 
to  interpret  the  conception  of  Shakespeare,  as  to  Bene- 
dick and  Beatrice.  Mr.  Irving  presents  a  higher  and 
finer  character  than  Benedick  is  in  Shakespeare's  page ; 
and  Miss  Terry  presents  a  more  lovely  and  tender 
woman  than  the  Beatrice  of  the  comedy. 

In  his  dressing  and  stage-setting  of  "Much  Ado" 
Mr.  Irving  has  respected  the  old  authorities  on  the  sub- 
ject—  following,  indeed,  the  precedent  of  Macready, 
by  whom  this  piece  was  sumptuously  revived  in  Lon- 
don, at  Drury  Lane,  in  1843.     The  last  war  in  which 

~* 
/ 


66 


HENRY  IRVING. 


the  Italians  were  involved,  while  they  were  under  the 
dominion  of  Spain,  occurred  in  1529,  and  Charles  V., 
of  Spain,  made  a  triumphal  entry  into  Messina  in  1535 
—  to  which  time  and  circumstances  the  comedy  relates. 
Dress  shapes  of  the  period  of  Henry  VIII.,  of  England, 
and  Francis  I.,  of  France,  and  parti-coloured  fabrics, 
such  as  were  then  worn  in  Europe,  are  its  suitable 
investiture.  On  the  occasion  of  Macready's  revival  its 
male  characters  were  dressed  in  close-fitting,  parti- 
coloured suits,  with  short  tunics.  Mr.  Wallack  dressed 
the  play  in  much  the  same  manner,  in  his  first  repro- 
duction of  it,  on  what  is  now  the  Star  stage,  in  1869; 
and  Edwin  Booth  in  1873,  at  Booth's  Theatre,  fol- 
lowed this  good  example. 

"Much  Ado"  has  been  several  times  as  well  set 
upon  the  American  stage  as  it  is  now  set  by  Mr.  Irving, 
if  reference  be  made  to  dresses  and  to  construction  of 
scenes.  The  superiority  of  Mr.  Irving's  mounting  of  it 
consists  in  the  colouring  and  tone  of  the  scenery,  and  in 
a  studiously  minute  attention  to  minor  detail  —  nothing 
being  omitted,  within  reason,  that  can  heighten  illusion 
or  deepen  the  effect  of  nature.  It  is  difficult  to  keep 
the  judicious  line  in  these  matters,  and  stage-mount- 
ing may  easily  be  carried  too  far.  The  acting  is 
more  important  than  the  trappings  that  surround  it. 
Much  of  the  scenery  habitually  used  on  the  American 
stage,  however,  is  too  obviously  "scenery,"  and  it 
may  be  said  to  smell  of  new  paint.  In  England 
Stanfield  and  Telbin,  among  others,  have  painted  stage 
scenery,  and  particular  attention  has  been  given  there  to 
mellowness  of  colour  and  to  a  due  simulation  of  the 
effects  of  time  and  climate  upon  architecture.  Mr.  Irving 
has  lived  and  laboured  where  he  could  have  the  counsel 


HENRY  IRVING. 


67 


of  such  artists  as  Alma  Tadema  and  such  scholars  as 
Planche.  He  tells  nothing  that  was  not  known  before ; 
but  he  practically  enforces  his  lesson,  pointing  out  the 
right  way  by  zealously  pursuing  it. 

And  what  is  true  of  much  American  stage  scenery  is 
equally  true  of  much  American  acting — it  is  too  obvi- 
ously "  acting";  the  wires  are  not  concealed.  Under 
the  instructive  influence  of  Mr.  Irving's  performances 
numbers  of  persons  have  been  made  to  understand 
this  truth,  which  yet  is  not  a  new  truth  to  the  habitual 
thinker  upon  this  subject.  From  the  completeness  of 
the  representation  of  "  Much  Ado,"  whether  viewed 
as  picture  or  performance,  this  is  the  chief  deducible 
lesson. 


XII 


PURPOSE    IN    ACTING. 


APRIL  27th,  1884. —  Last  night,  in  presence  of  a 
numerous  assemblage  and  amidst  acclamations 
of  delight  as  well  as  many  denotements  of  regret  at  an 
impending  loss,  Mr.  Irving,  Miss  Terry  and  the  Lon- 
don Lyceum  Theatre  Company  took  their  farewell  of 
America,  and  closed  the  first  Irving  season  in  the  New 
World.  Upon  the  special  performances  of  the  night — 
although  many  appreciative  words  remain  unsaid  as 
to  the  intellectual  subtlety  and  the  scholar-like  taste 
with  which  the  several  plays  have  been  treated  —  it  is 
not  needful  long  to  pause.  Four  jewels,  each  taken  from 
its  especial  setting,  were  displayed  in  one  blazing  cluster 
of  opulent  beauty ;  and  the  sense  of  them  that  lingers 
now  in  memory  is  a  sense  of  satisfying  magnificence. 

Mr.  Irving  endured  a  severe  strain —  for  he  was  re- 
quired to  impersonate,  in  conditions  of  a  climacteric 
character,  the  successive  natures  of  Shylock,  Lout's  XL., 
Charles  L.,  and  Benedick;  to  reach  these  conditions 
without  preparatory  gradations  of  advance,  and  to  give 
the  characters  all  their  vitality  in  an  instant.  His 
readiness   and  versatility  astonished   even   those  who 

68 


HENRY  IRVING.  69 

are  best  acquainted  with  the  resources  of  his  mind. 
Miss  Terry,  if  less  severely  tried,  was  yet  fully  as  re- 
sponsive to  the  needs  of  the  hour ;  and  it  was  obvious, 
furthermore,  that  the  occasion  itself  had  deeply  touched 
her  sensitive  heart.  The  acting  of  Miss  Terry  is  never 
a  matter  of  impulse  and  accident ;  yet  she  always  lib- 
erates her  own  nature  into  the  nature  she  assumes, 
bearing,  indeed,  a  heart  that  sits  ever  "  on  the  windy 
side  "  of  emotion,  so  that  her  tears  follow  quickly  upon 
her  laughter.  This  lively  sensibility  could  not  fail  to 
be  deeply  moved,  as  well  by  the  sense  of  parting  as  by 
the  demonstrative  sympathy  of  the  public.  No  audi- 
ence of  the  year  has  been  more  thoroughly  aroused, 
or  more  liberal  of  its  enthusiasm. 

The  measure  of  success  in  acting  is  found,  probably, 
in  the  question  whether  the  testimony  that  an  actor 
bears  to  human  nature  is  such  as  matches  the  best 
knowledge  of  that  subject  which  exists  in  the  aggre- 
gate mind  of  the  community.  To  consider  that  ques- 
tion is  to  look  upon  the  soul  of  the  actor  —  his  resources 
of  thought,  feeling,  imagination,  and  poetry,  and  the 
height  of  his  spiritual  altitude  above  the  common 
clay  —  and  thus  to  discover  whether  he  is  an  ex- 
emplar and  leader  of  men.  The  purpose  of  the  stage 
is  not  merely  to  amuse  a  crowd  of  people  for  two  or 
three  hours,  or  to  show  how  much  more  clever  one  man 
is  than  another  in  a  special  line  of  expression,  but  to 
display  scenes  and  powers  that  tell  of  what  human  na- 
ture is  composed  and  of  what  it  is  capable,  and  so  to 
suggest  how  sacred  our  duty  is  to  rule  and  guide  it 
upon  eternal  principles  of  right.  So  far  as  anything 
of  this  sort  can  be  defined,  with  reference  to  the  serious 
design  and  the  latent,  inexorable  morality  that  dwell 


70  HENRY  IRVING. 

in  all  things,  this  view  defines  the  drift  of  the  stage.  A 
true  actor  knows  this  and  treats  his  art  in  this  spirit. 
This  is  what  Mr.  Irving  has  done  and  this  is  the  reason 
of  his  success.  Back  of  the  actor  is  the  lofty,  calm, 
resolute,  far-seeing,  and  noble  mind.  Real  achieve- 
ment exists  by  right  and  not  by  sufferance.  Such  a 
man  never  can  fail  in  the  commanding  purpose  of  his 
life.  Honour  goes  before  him  and  affection  remains 
behind.  Fortunate  for  the  world  as  for  the  actor 
that  this  should  be  so.  The  history  of  the  dramatic 
art  presents  many  examples,  pitiable  and  pathetic,  of 
men  with  faculties  of  a  high  order  who  have  spent  long 
years  of  toil  in  intellectual  pursuits,  but  whose  efforts 
have  passed  without  recognition  and  without  reward. 
Thrice  happy  he  to  whom  nature  has  vouchsafed 
the  investiture  of  genius,  so  that  his  labour  becomes 
glorified,  in  all  eyes,  with  that  mysterious  radiance  of 
divinity ! 


An  old  Persian  proverb  says  that  "the  words  of 
a  King  fall  not  to  the  ground."  Mr.  living's  farewell 
speech  here  finds  its  place: — 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  It  is  my  privilege  to 
thank  you  for  all  your  goodness  toward  us.  I  wish  my 
tongue  possessed  an  eloquence  that  would  adequately 
express  my  thoughts.  On  a  night  that  will  ever  be  re- 
membered by  us,  six  months  ago,  you  welcomed  us  to 
these  boards,  and  I  thank  you  as  the  representative 
audience  of  the  empire  city  of  the  United  States  for 
the  welcome  which  we  have  everywhere  received  from 
the  American  people.  Not  one  jarring  note,  one  un- 
generous sentiment,  has  marred  the  happiness  of  our 


HENRY  IRVING.  71 

stay  among  you.  Arab-like  we  closed  our  tents  and 
travelled  to  many  places,  and  travelling  in  America  is 
unlike  travelling  in  England  :  the  distances  are  greater 
and  the  cities  are  further  apart.  Some  one  has  kindly 
suggested  that  to  oblige  us  they  might  perhaps  be 
pushed  a  little  together;  but  we  can  certainly,  after 
visiting  your  country,  sympathise  with  the  American 
gentleman  who  was  afraid  of  venturing  forth  from  his 
hotel  in  London  lest  he  should  fall  into  the  sea.  But 
wherever  we  have  been  we  have  received  a  gracious 
and  generous  hospitality,  and  the  last  four  weeks  have 
shown  us  that  New-York  has  in  no  way  forgotten  the 
first  kind  greeting  she  gave  us.  Of  the  efforts  which 
have  helped  to  gain  your  favour  it  does  not  become  me 
to  speak  at  length,  but  thanking  you  in  behalf  of  each 
and  all  I  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  my  pride  in  the 
triumph  of  one  who  has  made  an  impression  on  your 
hearts  which  will  never  be  effaced.  I  mean  my  sister- 
artist,  Miss  Ellen  Terry.  She  has  won  "  golden  opinions 
from  all  sorts  of  people,"  her  heart  is  full  of  gratitude, 
and  by  her  fireside  she  will  often  tell  of  the  kindness  she 
received  from  the  American  people.  For  myself,  I 
have  a  host  of  delightful  memories.  You  have  shown 
that  upon  the  broad  platform  of  a  noble  art  the  two 
greatest  sections  of  the  English-speaking  race  are  one 
nation.  You  have  shown  that  no  jealous  love  of  your 
own  most  admirable  actors  has  prevented  you  from  rec- 
ognising the  earnest  purpose  of  an  English  company, 
and  we  shall  return  to  our  homes  with  the  conviction 
that,  new  as  our  methods  may  have  been,  you  have  set 
the  stamp  of  undisguised  approval  upon  them,  and 
your  generosity  is,  I  am  sure,  heartily  appreciated 
by  the  English  people.  Certainly  as  long  as  I  have  a 
theatre  the  doors  of  the  Lyceum  will  be  open  to  welcome 
your  distinguished  countrymen.  One  is  acting  there 
now ;  others  will  be  there  by-and-by  ;  and  that  we  may 
not  be  quite  forgotten,  we  are  returning  soon  ourselves ; 
and  that  we  may  not  be  forgotten  by  you  we  are  re- 
turningto  you  soon.  "  Dick,"  said  your  great  Abraham 
Lincoln  to  Governor  Oglesby,  "  Dick,  keep  close  to  the 


72 


HENRY  IRVING. 


people."  And  that  the  American  people  may  not  for- 
get us,  we  are  coming,  if  all  be  well,  in  the  next  autumn. 
We  shall  return  full  of  hope  and  anticipation,  and  to 
our  friends  at  home  we  shall  say  that  we  are  returning 
for  a  parting  embrace  —  a  six  months'  embrace — and 
I  am  sure  that  our  dear  land,  which  has  the  first  place 
in  our  hearts,  will  not  begrudge  us  the  affection  which 
we  bear  to  America,  which  out  of  the  depths  of  your 
kindness  you  have  conjured  up.  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
I  respectfully,  gratefully,  and,  if  I  may  say  it,  lovingly, 
wish  you  good-bye. 


XIII 

THE    RETURN    WAVE. 

NOVEMBER  nth,  1884.— Mr.  Irving,  Miss  Ellen 
Terry,  and  the  London  Lyceum  Theatre  company 
appeared  at  the  Star  Theatre  last  night  in  Shakespeare's 
beautiful  comedy  of  "  The  Merchant  of  Venice."  The 
applause  which  attended  the  first  entrance  of  Portia 
was  marked  by  that  chivalric  and  affectionate  cordiality 
which  ever  should  and  ever  does  attest  the  presence 
of  a  true  favourite ;  and  the  subsequent  greeting  to 
Shylock  was  a  tumult  of  enthusiasm.  Occasions  of 
this  kind  are  made  memorable  in  this  way — when  to 
a  noble  artistic  effort  the  public  response  is  no  less 
adequate  than  genuine ;  and  they  are  long  and  proudly 
cherished  in  the  play-goer's  memory. 

Upon  the  general  character  of  Mr.  living's  presen- 
tation of  u  The  Merchant  of  Venice"  comment  has 
already  been  made.  The  play  is  still  treated  as  a 
comedy  and  not  as  a  star  piece  for  a  tragedian,  and 
it  is  mounted  and  dressed  with  a  careful  eye  to  cor- 
rect detail  and  picturesque  accessories.  The  presen- 
tation of  the  casket  scenes  in  full,  the  restoration 
of  Shylock' 's  scene  with  Antonio  and  the  Jailer,  and 
8  73 


74  HENRY  IRVING. 

the  restoration  of  Portia's  words  and  conduct  subse- 
quent to  the  trial,  together  with  the  tender  and  ro- 
mantic love-scene  of  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  are  still 
prominent  among  the  chief  beauties  of  this  revival. 
The  deft  introduction  of  oriental  music,  of  a  sonorous 
and  barbaric  strain,  to  signalise  the  proceedings  of  the 
Prince  of  Morocco,  is  still  to  be  noted  as  an  attendant 
charm.  The  maskers  of  Venice  still  glide,  in  their 
noiseless  gondolas,  along  her  silent  and  gloomy  canals. 
Shylock,  as  played  by  Mr.  Irving,  still  inspires  anxious 
dread  and  painful  suspense  by  his  formidable  return 
across  the  vacant  bridge  to  the  dwelling  left  desolate  by 
his  fugitive  daughter.  The  picture  of  the  high  court 
of  Venice  is  still  made  opulent,  imposing,  and  real  by 
fresco  and  drapery,  by  guards  and  groups,  by  stately 
ceremonials,  by  a  deft  employment  of  pages  within  and 
a  mob  without,  and  by  correctness  of  dramatic  treat- 
ment. And  still,  to  crown  the  pageant  with  a  golden 
light  of  happiness,  the  glittering  but  gentle  mirth  of 
Portia  is  made  to  play  —  as  Shakespeare  meant  it 
should  play  —  through  an  atmosphere  of  woman- like 
tenderness  and  unstinted  hospitality,  over  a  closing 
scene  of  summer  luxury  and  princely  wealth. 

The  scenery  has  been  refreshed.  Beneath  it  all  may 
be  discerned  the  instinct  that  aims  at  completeness  in 
the  display  of  a  subject  as  well  as  in  pictorial  embellish- 
ment. Judges  who  do  not  heartily  like  the  acting  of 
Henry  Irving  —  who  deny  that  he  possesses  dramatic 
genius,  and  affirm  that  he  is  a  clever  schemer  in  theatri- 
cal art — have  been  known  to  place  a  marked  emphasis 
upon  his  skill  and  thorough- going  care  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  stage.  No  sagacious  observer,  however,  is 
misled  by  this  amiable  subterfuge.     It  is  easy  to  put  an 


HENRY  IRVING.  75 

undue  stress  upon  this  element  in  Mr.  Irving's  work. 
Nobody  who  has  known  him  long  as  a  public  man 
will  doubt  either  his  diplomatic  tact,  his  worldly  wis- 
dom, or  his  resolute  purpose  to  succeed,  any  more 
than  the  poetic  glamour  of  his  intellect  and  the 
force  of  his  splendid  talent  and  discretion  in  the  treat- 
ment of  plays.  But  Mr.  Irving  is,  first  of  all,  an  actor. 
Several  of  his  best  successes  in  London  were  gained 
without  especial  attention  to  stage  embellishment  or 
the  adroit  illustration  of  dramatic  points.  The  par- 
ticulars in  which  his  achievements  as  a  stage  manager 
have  usually  and  notably  surpassed  those  of  his 
predecessors  and  contemporaries  are  a  felicitous  mel- 
lowness and  harmony  of  colour  in  scenery,  and  a 
resolute  and  almost  invariably  successful  subordina- 
tion of  details  to  a  central  purpose,  clearly  defined 
and  steadily  pursued.  There  were  heroes,  however, 
before  Agamemnon.  Other  men  have  presented  plays 
as  magnificently  as  Mr.  Irving  has  presented  them  — 
if  not  always  with  as  fine  precision  or  perfection  of 
charm.  The  Shakesperean  revivals  made  in  London 
by  Macready,  by  Charles  Kean,  and  by  Samuel  Phelps, 
and  those  likewise  made  in  America  by  W.  E.  Burton, 
Thomas  Barry,  Edwin  Booth,  Lester  Wallack,  and 
Augustin  Daly  should  not  be  forgotten.  That  field 
had  long  been  abandoned  in  the  British  capital  when 
Mr.  Irving  arose  to  occupy  it,  and  it  had  been  consid- 
erably neglected  here  for  a  long  period  antecedent  to 
his  arrival  in  America.  He  was  fortunate  when  he 
entered  upon  it,  no  less  than  wise.  It  is  a  field  in 
which  several  of  the  old  leaders  of  the  stage  have 
laboured  with  zeal,  liberality,  and  honour.  Mr.  Irving 
has  done  splendid  things  in  carrying  on  a  good  work 


76 


HENRY  IRVING. 


in  this  respect.  But  it  is  not  upon  his  "staging"  of 
plays,  either  wholly  or  mainly,  that  his  title  to  renown 
should  be  supposed  to  rest.  More  has  been  claimed 
for  him,  as  to  this,  than  he  has  ever  claimed  for 
himself. 

It  is  as  an  actor  that  Mr.  Irving  ought,  first  of  all 
and  most  of  all,  to  be  considered.  As  such  he  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  this  age.  Several  of 
his  impersonations,  pending  the  disclosure  of  new 
efforts,  are  now  to  be  repeated,  and  the  first  that  rears 
his  head  is  Shylock,  Persons  who  have  seen  in  this 
character  Edwin  Forrest,  Gustavus  V.  Brooke,  James 
W.  Wallack,  E.  L.  Davenport,  Bogumil  Dawison, 
Lawrence  Barrett,  and  Edwin  Booth,  are  not  likely  to 
be  transported  by  the  representation  of  it  that  is  given 
by  Mr.  Irving.  His  performance,  no  doubt,  is  truth- 
ful in  ideal,  and  flexible  and  often  splendidly  potent 
in  execution.  Yet  this  is  not  one  of  the  characters  in 
which  he  stands  alone.  He  presents,  indeed,  a  con- 
sistent and  symmetrical  identity.  He  makes  Shylock 
the  incarnation  —  at  first  specious,  then  obvious  — 
of  infernal  malignity.  He  depicts  a  Jew  who  hates  his 
victim  for  being  a  Christian,  but  more  for  being  a  foe 
to  usuiy.  He  shows  a  savage, —  and  yet  he  steadily 
preserves  in  him  the  strain  of  human  nature,  making 
him  resentful  of  injuries;  logical,  fervent,  and  sin- 
cere in  his  own  justification ;  domestic  in  his  habits ; 
reminiscent  of  a  lost  love,  and  that  in  a  tone  of  true 
passion  and  tender  grief;  and  he  sets  forth,  in  the 
indubitable  form  and  colour  of  nature,  a  huge  and 
horrid  type  of  implacable  animosity.  Nothing  could 
be  more  significant  of  a  comprehension  of  Shylock's 
nature,  and  nothing  could  be  finer  as  dramatic  art,  than 


HENRY  IRVING.  77 

Mr.  Irving's  cold,  wolfish  glare  and  his  demeanour 
of  indomitable  purpose  in  confronting  the  merchant 
in  the  court.  But  the  manifestation  of  tremendous 
emotional  power  that  is  possible  in  SJiylock,  particu- 
larly in  the  street  scene,  Mr.  Irving  does  not  ac- 
complish—  and,  in  fact,  does  not  attempt.  The 
legend  of  Edmund  Kean  in  this  character  —  a  pres- 
ence meteoric,  lurid,  and  terrible  —  is  not  realised  ; 
and  this  overwhelming  personality  is  what  in  Shylock 
seems  ever  most  essential.  This  part  does  not  and 
can  not  call  forth  what  is  finest  and  best  in  this  actor's 
nature.  Those  characters  in  which  Mr.  Irving  is  dis- 
tinctive or  supreme  are  men  in  whom  imagination, 
weirdness,  and  pathos  are  the  prevailing  attributes. 

Miss  Terry  gave  her  beautiful  embodiment  of  Portia, 
in  which  the  elocution  is  a  luxury  to  hear,  and  in  which 
a  sympathetic  perception  of  what  is  most  endearing  in  a 
woman's  nature  —  loveliness,  goodness,  and  fidelity  — 
is  commingled  with  an  arch  merriment  and  an  occa- 
sional tenderness  delightful  to  see  and  feel.  Mr. 
George  Alexander  appeared  as  Bassanio,  Mr.  Tyars 
as  Morocco,  and  Miss  Emery  as  Jessica.  Mr.  Alex- 
ander revealed  a  manly  spirit,  intelligence  and  re- 
finement, and  seemed  to  be  neither  self-conscious 
nor  self-assertive. 


>v  G^IiWs) 


8* 


XIV 


POETRY    OF    STAGE    EFFECT. 


NOVEMBER  14th.—  Side  by  side  the  currents  of 
happiness  and  misery,  sometimes  blended,  more 
often  contrasted,  flow  on  together  in  the  experience 
of  human  creatures,  so  that  no  work  of  art  can  be  so 
dramatic  as  is  the  grand,  comprehensive  picture  of 
human  life  itself.  In  deep  and  thoughtful  natures  a 
perception  of  the  contrasts  afforded  in  the  vast  picture 
naturally  engenders  a  grave  and  sweet  tranquility,  a 
mournful  but  noble  power  of  self-abnegation,  and, 
where  the  dramatic  instinct  is  present,  a  capacity  to 
view  life  as  nature  shows  it,  in  all  its  diversified  aspects, 
simply  as  a  fact,  and  without  comment  whether  upon  the 
hopes  or  fears,  the  joys  or  griefs,  the  gains  or  losses 
which  are  inevitable  in  the  fate  of  mankind.  This  was 
Shakespeare's  method;  and  thus  in  such  a  comedy  as 
' '  Much  Ado  "  the  observer  sees  the  procession  of  human 
events  much  as  he  might  behold  the  bend  in  a  distant 
river  —  partly  in  sunshine,  partly  in  shadow,  but  not 
perceiving  either  whence  it  springs  or  whither  it  flows. 
The  silvery  waters  have  passed  through  unseen  woods 
and  meadows,  and  they  will  flow  through  other  unseen 


HENRY  IRVING.  79 

fields,  to  empty  themselves  into  the  distant,  unknown 
sea.  Just  so,  in  one  of  Shakespeare's  comedies,  the 
observer  feels  that  the  current  of  life  which  has  now 
come  into  view  has  been  steadily  flowing  down  to  this 
point  of  sight,  and  will  continue  to  flow  on,  long  after 
it  has  passed  from  the  range  of  his  vision. 

In  Mr.  Irving's  treatment  of  the  play  —  in  his  setting 
and  embellishment  of  it  —  the  leading  characteristic  is 
the  practical  perception  of  this  truth.  The  perform- 
ance of  "Much  Ado  "  which  has  again  been  given  is 
not  now  to  be  viewed  as  a  novelty.  Yet  it  cannot  be 
amiss  to  refer  to  the  intellectual  exaltation,  the  im- 
pressiveness,  the  atmosphere  of  commingled  sadness 
and  mirth  with  which  the  comedy  was  displayed. 
The  sight  of  it  is  like  a  glimpse  into  a  land  of  sun- 
shine, love,  and  pleasure ;  and  when,  at  last,  its  happy 
denizens  dance  away  to  the  sound  of  merry  music  you 
turn  from  it  with  a  smile  which  hardly  conceals  a  tear, 
thinking  that  still  in  some  happy  region,  far  from  the 
troubles  and  cares  of  this  world,  their  life  of  merriment, 
passion,  romance,  and  happiness  is  still  flowing  on, 
immortal  in  its  youth  and  beauty.  To  create  and  to 
leave  impressions  of  this  kind  has  been  the  object  of 
Mr.  Irving's  art ;  and  the  brilliant  accomplishment  of 
this  object  is  the  basis  of  his  renown. 

Mr.  Irving  appeared  as  Benedick,  Miss  Ellen  Terry 
as  Beatrice,  Miss  Winifred  Emery  as  Hero,  Mr.  Alex- 
ander as  the  Prince,  Mr.  Norman  Forbes  as  Clandio, 
and  Mr.  Johnson  as  Dogberry.  It  remains  a  truth  that 
Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry  have  construed  Benedick 
and  Beatrice  m  an  ideal  spirit,  making  them  higher  and 
finer  than  they  are  in  the  book  ;  and  now,  as  before,  the 
result  justifies  the  expedient.    There  is  no  animal  taint 


So  HENRY  IRVING. 

in  the  Benedick  of  Mr.  Irving;  there  is  not  a  trace  of 
the  shrew  in  the  Beatrice  of  Miss  Terry.  For  its  femi- 
nine charm,  for  that  indefinable  something  which  makes 
a  woman  the  object  at  once  of  chivalrous  passion  and 
tender  respect,  it  will  be  remembered  as  long  as  any- 
thing is  remembered  on  the  stage  of  our  time.  Mr. 
Irving's  quiet,  ruminant,  sagacious  drollery,  playing 
over  a  serious  solidity  of  intellectual  character,  was  ex- 
erted in  a  charming  manner.  In  the  challenge  to 
Claudia  he  rises  to  true  dignity,  and  he  does  not  make 
the  common  mistake  of  turning  dangerous  menace  into 
tragical  bombast.  The  stickler  for  the  old  line  of 
treatment  in  Benedick — which  makes  him  a  dashing 
soldier,  a  rattling  man-of-the-world,  and  a  not  over- 
delicate  gallant  —  will  reject  this  performance.  It 
nevertheless  is  one  of  exalted  beauty  in  ideal,  and 
cf  precision,  firmness,  and  balance  in  execution. 

Mr.  George  Alexander's  preservation  of  an  unob- 
trusively considerate  tone  toward  others,  combined 
with  freedom  from  anxiety  on  the  subject  of  rank, 
making  the  essence  of  good  breeding,  his  breezy  good 
humour,  and  his  simplicity,  in  the  character  of  Don 
Pedro,  were  observed  with  admiration.  The  scene  of 
the  interrupted  bridal,  in  the  ancient  church  of  Mes- 
sina, crystallised  into  itself  the  chief  beauties  of  the 
performance.  Such  a  scene  is  at  once  a  perfect 
pleasure  and  a  noble  example  in  the  dramatic  art. 


XV 


TWELFTH    NIGHT. 


NOVEMBER  19th.— There  is  an  uncertainty  of 
dramatic  drift  in  the  comedy  of  the  "  Twelfth 
Night" — a  kind  of  whimsical  recklessness,  sufficiently 
denoted  in  the  sub-title,  "  What  You  Will"— which, 
in  practical  experience,  has  generally  had  the  effect  of 
making  this  piece  a  little  tiresome  upon  the  stage. 
Nobody  can  care  much  for  anything  that  it  contains, 
aside  from  the  gentle,  piquant,  lovely  character  of 
Viola ;  and  the  charm  of  this  is  not  essentially  dra- 
matic, but  resides  almost  exclusively  in  the  delicious 
sweetness  of  her  temperament  as  displayed  under  the 
mournful  light  of  her  patient  and  outwardly  cheerful 
resignation  to  the  pangs  of  unrequited  love.  There 
is  but  little  dramatic  incident  in  her  experience  or  of 
dramatic  effect  in  the  development  of  either  her  story 
or  her  character.  The  love-lorn  Orsino — a  gentleman 
far  too  easily  reconciled  to  the  loss  of  one  love,  so  that 
at  last  he  may  obtain  another — is  almost  insipid.  The 
episode  of  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew  is  little  more  than 
a  tipsy  frolic.  Malvolio,  though  strong  and  complex  as 
a  character,  interests  rather  as  a  curiously  carved  and 

81 


82  HENRY  IRVING. 


grotesque  image  of  humanity  than  as  a  typical  man  : 
he  amuses  and  he  stimulates  analytic  reflection  upon 
the  possible  oddities  of  human  nature,  but  he  does 
not  awaken  sympathy.  The  discomfiture  of  "an 
affectioned  ass"  and  "contemplative  fool"  is  a  comic 
spectacle,  and  yet  the  laughter  to  which  it  incites 
is  rebuked  by  a  kind  of  humane  regret  that  any  man 
should  be  so  absurd,  and  should,  in  his  infinity  of 
conceit,  encounter  such  cruel  treatment.  As  often  as 
the  "Twelfth  Night"  has  been  seen  here  (and  it 
has  been  seen  often  since  the  old  days  of  Burton),  it 
has  proved  a  trial  to  patience,  except  for  two  or  three 
impressive  beauties.  Mr.  Irving's  revival  of  it,  although 
distinguished  by  rare  beauty  of  scenery  and  fidelity  of 
detail  in  dress  and  "business,"  met  with  the  usual 
fortune  of  calm  respect.  Its  chief  features  were  Miss 
Ellen  Terry  as  Viola  and  Mr.  Irving  as  Malvolio — the 
latter  being  the  first  embodiment  of  this  eccentric  per- 
son seen  here  of  late  years,  or  since  the  time  of  Walcot 
and  Gilbert  in  the  character,  that  has  made  him  an 
actual  human  creature,  capable  of  feeling  passion  and 
of  suffering  pain  as  well  as  of  causing  mirth  and  point- 
ing a  moral.  Mr.  Irving  presented  him  with  distinct- 
ness and  firm  execution,  and  with  a  wealth  of  subtle 
mechanism.  Miss  Terry  in  Viola  was  a  beautiful  image 
of  boy-like  grace,  and  she  delivered  the  text  with  a 
fine  intelligence  that  penetrated  and  illumined  every 
line.  But  her  performance  had  little  of  that  half- 
concealed  sadness  which,  mingled  with  Viola's  glee, 
makes  her  pathetic  as  well  as  bewitching.  Sweet 
without  insipidity  and  gay  without  coquetry,  Viola  is 
the  most  piquant  female  character  in  Shakespeare, 
and,  excepting  Imogen,  the  most  tender  and  delicious 


HENRY  IRVING.  83 


of  his  women.-    She  is  true  but  not  intense;  ardent 
but  not  powerful.     She  loves  and  she  suffers  ;  but  she 
is   bright,    gentle,    and   submissive,    and   she    typifies 
neither  misery  nor  passion.     Shakespeare's  lapses  from 
verse  into  prose  are  always  significant  because  always 
made  to  serve  a  purpose  in  the  art  of  acting ;  and  it 
is  notable  that  he  seldom  allows  Viola  to  speak  aught 
else  than  the  language  of  poetry.     She  is  a  rarefied 
character,  slighter  alike  in  mind  and  will  than  Rosalind, 
though  kindred  with  that  luxuriant,  sparkling  beauty, 
but  equally  affectionate  and  noble,  and  more  lovely. 
There  is  not  much  of  the  character,  but  it  is  as  pre- 
cious as  diamonds.     The  chief  dramatic  necessity  in 
the  acting  of  Viola  would  seem  to  be  the  revelation 
of  her  wistful  sadness,  her  rueful,  charming  melan- 
choly, under  the  repose  of  innocent  glee  —  the  half- 
checked  tear  that  is  momentarily  visible  through  the 
guileless,  patient,  unselfish,  eager  smile  of  childlike 
happiness.     Miss  Terry's  expeditious  treatment  of  the 
part   gave   such    emphasis    to   its  brilliancy   as   quite 
concealed    its   sorrow.      But,   while   deficient   in    the 
transparency  of  acting,  it  was  a  delightful  image  of 
gladness,  sweetness,  and  beauty. 


XVI 

HAMLET. 

NOVEMBER  27th.— Mr.  Irving  has  crowned  his 
noble  series  of  performances  in  this  capital  with 
his  original,  extraordinary,  and  deeply  impressive  im- 
personation of  Hamlet.  This  was  given  last  night 
before  a  numerous  audience,  enthusiastic  but  also 
thoughtful ;  and  it  was  viewed  with  eager  attention, 
sometimes  with  surprise,  sometimes  with  delight,  once 
in  a  while  with  consternation,  more  often  with  cordial 
plaudits,  always  with  profound  respect.  Miss  Ellen 
Terry  appeared  as  Ophelia,  and  she  dignified  and 
adorned  the  occasion  by  a  performance  so  radiant  in 
beauty,  so  exquisite  in  grace,  and  so  tender  and  lovely 
in  pathos  that  simply  "it  paragons  description  and 
wild  fame."  The  sublime  tragedy  of  "  Hamlet "  was 
set  upon  the  stage  in  scenery  remarkable  for  the  rich 
quality  of  its  sombre  tone,  and  its  several  characters, 
judiciously  distributed  to  suitable  actors,  were,  with 
little  exception,  personated  in  a  competent  and  effective 
manner.  The  night  was  a  golden  one,  and  it  will  long 
abide  in  the  pleased  and  grateful  remembrance  of  this 
community. 

84 


HENRY  IRVING.  85 


The  character  of  Hamlet  appears  to  be  chosen,  by 
common  consent,  as  furnishing  the  standard  by  which 
every  actor  should  be  judged,  with  reference  to  his 
claim  to  a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  the  dramatic  pro- 
fession. It  is  not,  indeed,  so  difficult  a  part  to  act  as 
either  Macbeth  or  King  Lear — since  it  requires  neither 
the  lurid,  overwhelming  imagination  of  the  fiend- 
driven  murderer,  nor  the  vast  torrent  of  thwarted  ten- 
derness and  shattered  senile  sensibility  essential  to  the 
afflicted,  insane  monarch;  neither  does  it  exact  such 
prodigious  physical  resource  and  exertion  as  are  de- 
manded in  these  characters.  But  it  is  a  majestic  and 
beautiful  personality,  richly  fraught  with  intellect,  sen- 
sibility, refinement,  and  grace,  and  displayed  under 
circumstances  of  impressive  mystery  and  romance  ;  its 
thoroughly  adequate  representation  is  possible  only  to 
a  nature  of  exquisite  sensibility,  hallowed  by  the  charm 
of  genius,  matured  by  the  experience  of  suffering,  and 
dominated  by  an  intellect  that  perfectly  controls  alike 
itself  and  the  methods,  expedients,  and  accomplishments 
of  dramatic  art ;  and  hence  it  is  reasoned  that  the  actor 
who  can  endear  himself  to  the  world  in  the  character 
of  Hamlet  is  necessarily  a  great  actor.  In  England, 
where  they  accept  a  new  Hamlet  about  once  every  twenty 
years,  and  where  the  mantle  of  Garrick  has  fallen, 
successively,  on  Kemble,  Kean,  Young,  Macready,  and 
Fechter,  Mr.  Irving's  embodiment  of  Hamlet  was  long 
since  crowned  with  the  laurel  of  renown.  He  has  now 
placed  this  noble  work  for  the  first  time  before  the 
public  of  New -York,  and  so  at  length  the  corner-stone 
of  his  great  reputation  stands  fully  disclosed. 

The  performance  is  one  of  the  richest  and  most  sug- 
gestive that  have  been  presented  on  the  contemporary 
9 


86  HENRY  IRVING. 

stage,  and  one  of  the  most  difficult  to  analyse  and  de- 
scribe. In  ideal  —  in  fidelity  to  Shakespeare's  concep- 
tion —  it  is  almost  entirely  great.  The  proportion, 
indeed,  is  not  strictly  maintained.  Certain  attributes 
of  the  character  are  more  amply,  boldly,  and  truly  pre- 
sented than  others.  The  feeling  exceeds  the  mentality. 
The  bitterness  is  more  prominent  than  the  charm. 
Of  that  lucid  interval  of  lofty  poise  —  that  Hamlet  who 
shines  forth  in  the  speech,  to  Horatio,  about  "  passion's 
slave"  and  "fortune's  finger" — there  is  scarcely  a 
trace.  But  the  Hamlet  who  looked  into  Ophelia's  eyes 
as  if  he  would  read  her  very  soul ;  the  Hamlet  who 
seemed  to  her  "like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune 
and  harsh  " ;  the  Hamlet  who  thought  he  could  be 
bounded  in  a  nutshell  and  count  himself  king  of  infi- 
nite space,  but  that  he  had  bad  dreams ;  the  Hamlet 
through  the  temple  of  whose  soul  streamed  a  hideous 
rout  of  foul  and  frightful  shapes ;  the  Hamlet  who  said 
"You  would  not  think  how  ill  all  's  here,  about  my 
heart " —  this  is  thought,  felt,  understood,  and  inter- 
preted with  profound  earnestness  and  remarkable 
beauty.  And  this  is  enough.  The  blemishes  will  not 
invalidate  this.  They  are  in  the  method  and  not  in  the 
substance.  Yet  they  exist :  for  Mr.  Irving  has  applied 
to  Hamlet  the  same  "  natural "  treatment  and  the  same 
colloquial  style  that  he  employs  for  Mathias  in  "  The 
Bells."  They  are,  in  that  character,  consummate; 
but  they  sometimes  seemed  enfeebled  and  inadequate, 
in  contact  with  the  towering  magnitude  of  Shake- 
speare's thought  and  the  stately  pomp  and  sonority  of 
his  verse.  Mr.  living's  Hamlet  is  great  in  ideal ;  but 
his  expression  of  that  ideal  could  be  made,  in  some 
ways,  more  massive  and  more  splendid.     It  is  upon 


HENRY  IRVING.  87 

the  substance,  and  not  the  manner,  of  the  work,  ac- 
cordingly, that  reflection  will  first  repose  and  longest 
dwell. 

The  universal  tendency  of  the  human  mind  is  to  sum- 
marise. Almost  every  person  likes  to  hear,  and  likes 
to  make,  comprehensive  and  positive  statements  upon 
all  subjects  of  knowledge  or  thought.  Hundreds  of 
writers  —  pursuant  to  this  usual  impulse  —  have  as- 
sumed to  define  Hamlet.  No  writer  has  entirely  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  it.  There  are  subjects  that  cannot  be 
summarised,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  Much  lucid 
and  splendid  thought  upon  it  has  been  uttered,  be- 
cause many  of  the  greatest  minds  which  have  existed 
within  the  last  two  hundred  years  have  been  attracted, 
aroused  and  inspired  by  its  glory  and  its  mystery. 
But  the  final  elucidating  word  has  never  yet  been 
found.  Much,  to  be  sure,  is  clear.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  about  the  general  drift.  But  what  was  left  a 
secret  remains  a  secret  still.  When  the  human  soul 
and  its  relations  to  the  universe  are  entirely  understood, 
Hamlet  will  be  entirely  understood  —  and  not  till  then. 

Without  presuming  to  undertake  to  define  Hamlet, 
however,  it  may  yet  be  said  that  certain  illuminative 
facts  about  him  are  positively  known.  He  is  a  prince, 
in  a  royal  court ;  noble,  gentle,  and  of  perfect  breed- 
ing ;  "  the  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state."  He 
is  thirty  years  old.  He  has  been  educated  at  the  most 
famous  university  in  Europe.  He  has  been  reared  in 
the  Catholic  faith.  He  has  lived  a  life,  not  of  action 
but  of  thought.  His  intellect,  vast,  far-reaching,  and 
conscious  of  its  power,  has  been  cultivated,  by  intense 
thinking,  to  the  most  extreme  limit,  so  that  now  the 
idea  of  anything  —  no  matterwhat — is  more  real  to  him 


88 


HENRY  IRVING. 


than  the  thing  itself;  and  he  has  lost  the  faculty,  if 
ever  he  had  it,  of  practical,  continuous  action,  even 
while  living  at  the  height  of  mental  activity  and  in  a 
fever  of  destructive  excitement.  It  seems  to  have  been 
Shakespeare's  intention  to  present  a  divinely  gifted 
man,  as  representative  of  all  that  is  highest  and  best  in 
human  nature ;  to  place  him  at  the  pinnacle  of  worldly 
fortune ;  to  make  him  great  in  himself  and  in  his 
state ;  to  give  him  honour,  genius,  love,  friendship, 
power,  wealth,  popularity,  every  blessing;  and  then 
to  overwhelm  him  with  affliction,  developing  a  latent 
strain  of  misery  and  taint  of  madness  in  his  organ- 
isation, and  thus,  on  the  largest  canvas  and  with  the 
boldest  colours  ever  used  by  mortal  hand,  to  paint 
human  life  in  the  aspect  of  total  failure. 

For  this,  surely,  is  what  the  tragedy  of  "Hamlet" 
seems  to  say.  However  much  mankind  may  close  its 
eyes  to  the  truth,  the  truth  nevertheless  remains,  that 
mortality  is  a  condition  not  of  happiness  but  of  sorrow. 
The  protracted  and  cruel  pain  with  which  it  begins, 
the  uncertainty  with  which  it  is  attended,  the  trouble 
with  which  it  is  burdened,  the  mystery  with  which  it  is 
surrounded,  the  mutability  with  which  it  is  cursed,  and 
the  misery  in  which  it  ends  unite  to  make  it,  for  all 
who  look  beneath  the  surface,  infinitely  pathetic.  Some 
of  its  pleasures,  indeed,  are  very  great ;  but  all  of  them 
are  evanescent.  Everything  breaks  and  dies  —  every- 
thing but  memory,  and  that  is  the  crudest  affliction 
of  all.     Poor  Byron  said  the  whole  sad  truth  in  four 


lines : 


"  Count  o'er  the  joys  thine  hours  have  seen, 
Count  o'er  thy  days  from  anguish  free, 
And  know,  whatever  thou  hast  been, 
'Tis  something  better  not  to  be." 


HENRY  IRVING.  89 

All  this  is  implied  in  Mr.  Irving's  impersonation. 
He  never  misses  the  subtlety  of  the  character.  The 
misery  of  Hamlet  is  inherent  misery.  It  is  not,  to  any 
considerable  extent,  caused  by  his  personal  circum- 
stances. "The  uses  of  this  world"  are  to  him  "weary, 
stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable  "  long  before  he  knows  that 
his  father  was  murdered,  or  that  his  mother's  new  hus- 
band is  the  murderer,  or  that  his  father's  spirit  is 
abroad.  Grief  at  the  death  of  his  father,  bitter  resent- 
ment of  his  mother's  ensuing  hasty  nuptials,  dim  sus- 
picion of  his  uncle's  wickedness,  and  presentiment  and 
foreboding  as  to  the  love  of  Ophelia  are  the  only 
sources  of  his  wretchedness  that  can  be  distinctly 
stated.  These  are  in  part  explanatory  of  his  condi- 
tion ;  but  only  in  part.  For  the  secret,  profound  cause 
of  the  overwhelming  weight  of  his  misery  we  must 
look  into  his  soul.  Self-disgust  and  disgust  at  the 
human  race  are  properties  of  his  mind.  A  sense  of  the 
awful  grandeur  and  mystery  of  the  universe  and  of  the 
angelic  and  even  godlike  attributes  that  appertain  to 
the  nature  of  man  abide  with  him,  it  is  true;  yet  as 
he  looks  forth  upon  that  universe  he  sees  only  "a  foul 
and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapours  " ;  and  as  he  looks 
upon  mankind  he  sees  only  the  "  quintessence  of  dust." 
Suicide  has  long  been  a  familiar  subject  in  his  thoughts, 
and  he  would  destroy  his  own  life  but  that  self-murder 
is  forbidden,  and  —  more  important  still  —  but  that 
greater  misery  may  await  the  soul,  beyond  the  grave, 
than  that  which  it  suffers  here. 

Hamlet  is  the  very  genius  of  sorrow ;  born  so,  and 
not  made  so ;  and  whatever  his  circumstances  might 
have  been  he  would  have  reacted  on  them  to  afflict- 
ing if  not  to  tragical  results.     Upon  this  nature,  thus 
9* 


90  HENRY  IRVING. 

saturated  with  gloom  and  predestined  to  anguish,  falls 
the  shock  of  a  supernatural  visitation  and  a  heartrend- 
ing disclosure  of  cruel  and  loathsome  crime;  and  thus 
the  will,  already  irresolute  from  baffled  thinking  and 
enfeebling  grief,  is  shattered  ;  the  mind  drifts  from  its 
moorings,  and  steadfast  action  becomes  impossible. 
Hamlet  is  in  a  real  delirium  —  to  which  Mr.  Irving 
gives  prominent  and  thrilling  expression  —  after  the 
disappearance  of  the  Ghost,  in  the  scene  upon  "the 
dreadful  summit  of  the  cliff" ;  and  he  then  has  the 
impulse  to  assume  to  be  insane  (in  which  device  it  is 
singular  and  significant  to  note  that  the  Ghost  appears 
to  concur),  because  he  is  already  deranged,  and  feels 
it,  and  wishes,  in  a  certain  blind  way,  to  conceal  it. 
He  has  no  plan  in  his  madness.  Whenever  there  is  an 
opportunity  to  act  he  will  reason  it  away.  He  does 
not  really  wish  to  plunge  the  soul  of  Claudius  into 
hell ;  but  he  can  persuade  himself  to  think,  for  the 
moment,  that  even  this  is  needful,  in  order  to  free 
himself  from  the  necessity  of  killing  him,  then  and 
there,  in  the  prayer  scene.  He  can  feel  no  personal 
experience  without  presently  making  it  into  a  gener- 
alisation. This  shattered  condition  —  this  incertitude 
—  this  desolate,  drifting  plight  —  is  thoroughly  realised 
in  Mr.  Irving's  embodiment ;  and  this  is  Hamlet. 

Charles  Knight's  theory,  that  the  play  commonly 
referred  to  as  "  the  old  Hamlet "  was,  in  fact,  Shake- 
speare's "Hamlet"  as  it  stood  when  first  written 
(probably  in  1589),  and  as  it  stands  in  the  quarto  pi- 
ratically published  in  1603,  is  a  sagacious  theory.  The 
first  authentic  draft  is  the  quarto  of  1604;  and  —  as 
readers  doubtless  know — it  is  from  a  comparison  of 
this,  and  of  the  folio  print  of  1623,  with  the  pirat- 


HENRY  IRVING.  91 

ical  copy,  that  Shakespeare  scholars  gain  a  peculiar 
knowledge  of  the  astonishing  growth  of  Shakespeare's 
mind,  and,  especially,  derive  instruction  as  to  his 
drift  in  this  tragedy.  This  drift  was  far  more  defi- 
nitely expressed  at  first,  but  in  a  manner  far  less  poet- 
ical, philosophical,  eloquent,  and  profound.  Great  em- 
phasis was  laid  on  the  madness  of  Hamlet.  The  Queen 
was  distinctly  declared  to  be  innocent  of  complicity  in 
the  murder  of  her  first  husband.  Hamlet  himself  was 
made  more  comprehensible  every  way — being  less 
heavily  freighted  with  the  "large  discourse  of  reason, 
looking  before  and  after,"  less  reflective  upon  mankind, 
and,  especially,  less  interpenetrated  with  embittering 
sorrow.  The  lesson  learned  from  this  research,  as 
applied  to  the  acting  of  Hamlet,  is  that  the  character 
should  be  deduced  from  the  play  as  it  stands  in  its 
mature  form ;  that,  while  the  Prince  must  be  pre- 
sented as  a  man  whose  soul  and  body  are  steeped  in 
hopeless  misery,  and  who  is  sustained  by  proud,  scorn- 
ful, bitter,  incessant,  feverish,  intellectual  power, — the 
restless,  terrible  excitement  of  a  great  brain  and  heart 
surcharged  with  irremediable  woe, —  he  must  yet  be 
presented  with  a  certain  vagueness.  It  is  a  great  ex- 
cellence of  Mr.  Irving's  embodiment  of  Hamlet  that  it 
so  presents  him. 

Observant  persons  who  have  ever  heard  Mr.  Irving's 
recital  of  Hood's  poem  of  "  The  Dream  of  Eugene 
Aram  "  had  then  a  rare  opportunity  of  studying  his 
peculiar  method  of  execution — which  again  forces 
itself  upon  attention  in  his  performance  of  Hamlet. 
He  begins  with  repose.  His  level  speaking  is  clear, 
measured,  even,  precise,  and  always  steadily  effective. 
Soon  his  nervous  forces  become  excited ;  the  imagina- 


92  HENRY  IRVING. 

tion,  working  upon  the  feelings,  throws  the  whole  sys- 
tem into  a  tremor  of  emotion ;  and  thereupon  both  his 
walk  and  his  enunciation  are,  in  a  peculiar  way  (pecu- 
liar and  not  disagreeable),  constricted,  in  some  slight 
degree,  by  a  sort  of  inflexibility.     He  now  moves  a 
little  stiffly ;  his  words  are  spoken  with  monosyllabic 
ejaculation,    and    with   an    occasional   cadence.      At 
moments   his  tone  is  indistinct.     The  character  and 
the  feeling  have  obtained   control  of  the  man,  and 
his   intellectual  will   is   forcing   the   man   to   become 
representative  and  expressive  of  them.     If  the  char- 
acter and  the  feeling  be  weird,  grimly  grotesque,  or 
afflictively  passionate,  the  intellectual  will  of  the  actor 
splendidly   predominates   over   all  his  functions   and 
makes  him  superlatively  true  and  touchingly  sympa- 
thetic.    If  the  character  and  the  feeling  be  stately, 
spiritualised,  classical,    philosophic,  expressed   within 
the  formalism  and  inflexible  lines  of  verse,  and  exact- 
ing of  a  body  in  which  absolute  symmetry  is  to  be 
shown  with  absolute  grace,  the  emotion  of  the  actor 
responds  less  readily  to  his  will,  or  does  not  yield  at 
all,  but  carries  all  before  it ;  and  that  which  ought  to 
be  perfect  in  form  and  held  in  supreme  poise  with  the 
iron  grip  of  intellectual  power  is  shattered  and  diffused, 
like  a  coruscation  of  ever-changing  fires ;  and  the  eye 
knows  not  where  to  rest.     This  is  shown  in  his  embod- 
iment of  Hamlet,  and  this  is  why  so  many  students  of 
the  work  constantly  speak  of  single  features  in  it  and 
not  of  the  work  as  a  whole.     There  are  parts  of  Ham- 
let to  which  Mr.   Irving's   temperament  and  method 
are  exactly  fitted.  [No  actor  was  ever  truer  or  finer 
than  he   in  denotement  of  the  blending  of  assumed 
\  madness  with  involuntary  derangement  —  the  forlorn 


HENRY  IRVING.  93 

state  of  a  wild,  unsettled  mind,  protecting  itself  by- 
simulated  vvildness.  No  actor  ever  better  expressed  the 
bitterness  and  sarcasm  of  a  sweet  nature,  outraged, 
shocked,  and  turned  back  upon  itself.  In  the  play  ' 
scene,  in  the  ensuing  colloquy  with  the  two  spaniel 
courtiers,  as  in  the  first  talk  with  them,  and  in  the  last 
ghost  scene,  Mr.  Irving's  Hamlet  is  at  its  best;  and  its 
best  is  exceedingly  beautiful.  J  There  was  not  a  perfect 
correspondence  between  the  actor's  ideal  of  Shake- 
speare's conception  and  the  actor's  faculties  of  express- 
ing it.  There-  ace  defects  of—  execution.  -Bu-ti  viewed 
as  an  ideal  Mr.  Irving's  Hamlet  is  profoundly  true  on 
the  side  of  the  emotions ;  rightly  saturated  with  sorrow ; 
touched  with  glittering  scorn  and  pathetic  bitterness ; 
tainted,  as  in  Shakespeare's  page,  with  the  morbid 
tinge  of  mental  disease ;  and,  above  all,  and  in  spite  of 
irregularities  of  form  and  excess  of  impulse  over  will,  it 
is  fused  by  passionate  intensity  into  one  continuous, 
fluent  strain  of  vital  personification^ 

Abstractly  considered,  however,  what  does  it  signify 
whether  Hamlet  is  a  character  who  feigns  madness,  or 
who  really  is  mad  ?  whether  Hamlet  loves  Ophelia, 
or  has  ceased  to  love  her  ?  whether  Hamlet  has  really 
seen  his  dead  father's  spirit,  or  a  devil  in  that  shape,  or 
has  imagined  a  vocal  apparition  that  he  never  saw  at  all  ? 
whether  his  mother  was  privy  to  the  murder  of  her 
husband,  or  guiltless  of  participation  in  that  hideous 
crime  ?  What  signify  any  or  all  questions  about  the 
matter  —  unless  the  experience  of  Hamlet  be  viewed  as 
something  germane  to  the  experience  of  every  individ- 
ual of  the  human  race  ?  If  nothing  more  is  to  be  con- 
sidered than  cleverness  in  acting  —  the  adroit  treatment 
of  mooted  points  —  sonority  in  soliloquies  —  flexibility 


\ 


94  HENRY  IRVING. 

in  dialogue  —  grace  or  wildness  of  demeanour  —  felicity 
of  stage-business  —  taste  in  dress  —  we  may  as  well 
descant  on  the  soap  bubbles  that  a  child  blows  from  its 
pipe,  at  the  nursery  window.  The  important  thing  is  to 
grasp  Hamlet's  experience  as  a  whole,  to  absorb  it  into 
our  knowledge,  to  bring  it  home  to  our  own  hearts ; 
and  surely  the  actor  who  enables  us  to  accomplish  this 
result,  or  who  largely  helps  us  toward  it,  has  succeeded 
in  Hamlet,  no  matter  what,  to  individual  taste,  may  be 
the  defects  of  his  technical  mechanism.  The  execution, 
to  be  sure,  is  the  art  of  acting.  Drama  being,  first  of  all, 
for  the  eye,  it  is  not  so  much  what  you  do  as  how  you  do 
it  that  is  your  potent  element  of  victory.  Signor  Sal- 
vini's  embodiment  oi  Othello,  for  example,  is  a  great  piece 
of  acting,  and  one  that  exercises  a  prodigious  power  over 
an  audience,  although  to  a  considerable  extent  it  is  a 
demonstrable  perversion  of  Shakespeare.  Mrs.  Pritchard 
was  esteemed,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  a  wonderful 
actress  of  Lady  Macbeth,  although  she  had  never  read 
the  tragedy  of  "  Macbeth,"  but  only  knew  the  part  that 
she  had  to  act;  and  Dr.  Johnson  called  her  an  "  inspired 
idiot."  Her  ideal  may  have  been  wrong;  her  exe- 
cution, obviously,  was  magnificent.  No  thinker  will 
deny  or  undervalue  the  prodigious  influence  of  the  art 
of  expression  in  these  matters.  Yet  what  you  do  is 
also  of  great  importance.  In  the  last  analysis  of  the 
subject,  looking  toward  what  remains  with  the  specta- 
tor of  a  dramatic  performance,  it,  indeed,  transcends 
all  the  rest,  being  an  element  of  permanent  worth  and 
an  abiding  result.  A  man  who  acts  greatly  is,  doubtless, 
a  great  actor,  without  reference  to  what  it  is  that  his  act- 
ing is  specifically  designed  to  exhibit;  but  the  man  who 
acts  a  great  part,  like  Hamlet,  so  as  to  put  us  into  posses- 


HENRY  IRVING.  95 

sion  of  it,  has  accomplished  more,  and  risen  to  a  higher 
intellectual  station,  than  is  possible  to  even  the  most 
perfect  executant.  This  is  Mr.  I rving's  victory  —  and 
it  is  a  brilliant  one  ;  unequivocal ;  permanent ;  not  to 
be  denied ;  and  safe  beyond  the  reach  of  disparagement. 
The  character  of  Ophelia,  when  first  it  dawns  upon 
the  apprehension  of  a  reader  of  the  tragedy  of  "Ham- 
let," appears  to  be  all  that  is  lovely.  Its  lack  of  strength 
is  not  perceived  until  the  observer  reflects  that  strength 
also  is  an  element  of  loveliness  in  woman.  Ophelia  is 
exquisitely  beautiful,  soft,  innocent,  trustful,  and  fond. 
She  loves  with  her  whole  heart  —  but  her  heart  is 
neither  resolute  nor  passionate.  She  instantly  yields 
to  the  first  touch  of  opposition  and  she  is  broken  by 
the  first  blow  of  adversity.  That  blow,  indeed,  it  must 
be  admitted,  is  a  heavy  one  —  for  it  is  her  affrighted 
perception  of  what,  in  Hamlet,  her  lover,  she  can  re- 
gard only  as  madness.  Her  description,  to  Polonius, 
of  the  visitation  that  she  has  received  from  the  Prince 
is  surely  one  of  the  most  significant  passages  in  the 
tragedy,  with  reference  both  to  herself  and  him.  Ham- 
let uses  no  guile  with  Ophelia.  To  others  he  may  put 
on  "  an  antic  disposition  "  ;  to  her  he  is  himself.  And 
the  meaning  of  that  deplorable  spectacle  is  that,  with 
everything  else  that  has  suffered  shipwreck  in  the  life 
of  Hamlet,  love  also  is  destroyed  and  henceforth  will 
exist  only  as  a  memory  —  now  passionate,  now  meekly 
and  mutely  woful,  but  always  agonising  and  bitter : 
for  Hamlet's  gaze  has  pierced  through  the  loveliness  of 
Ophelia  to  the  frailness  beneath  it,  and  beneath  all 
loveliness,  and  he  knows  that  for  him  there  is  no  de- 
pendence on  a  woman's  heart  and  no  refuge  in  love. 
His  mind,  in  receiving  its  consecration  to  vengeance, 


96 


HENRY  IRVING. 


has  likewise  received  its  death-blow  from  the  spiritual 
world.  Ophelia,  incapable  at  any  time  of  fully  under- 
standing Hamlet,  does  understand  that  his  mind  is 
distracted  and  that  his  love  is  dead ;  and  this,  doubt- 
less, is  the  beginning  of  her  own  mental  derangement, 
subsequently  developed  by  the  cruelty  of  Hamlet's  re- 
buke and  by  the  calamitous  death  of  her  father,  slain 
by  her  frantic  lover's  hand.  Ophelia,  then,  is  an  image 
or  personification  of  innocent,  delicious,  feminine  youth 
and  beauty,  and  she  passes  before  us  in  the  two  phases 
of  sanity  and  delirium.  Miss  Ellen  Terry  presented 
her  in  this  way.  The  embodiment  is  fully  within  her 
reach,  and  it  is  one  of  the  few  unmistakably  perfect 
creations  with  which  dramatic  art  has  illumined  liter- 
ature and  adorned  the  stage.  Miss  Terry  was  born  to 
play  such  a  part  and  she  is  perfect  in  it.  There  is  no 
other  word  for  such  an  achievement. 


XVII 


CLOSING    SCENES. 


T^ECEMBER  7th. — Mr.  Irving's  engagement,  which 
-*->'  began  on  November  10th,  was  ended  last  night.  It 
has  filled  a  period  of  four  weeks  and  it  has  been  prosper- 
ous to  the  actor  and  advantageous  to  the  public.  The 
pieces  presented  were,  with  two  exceptions,  those  in 
which  Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry  had  been  seen  before. 
The  novelties  were  "Twelfth  Night"  and  "Hamlet," 
Mr.  Irving  presenting  Malvolio  and  Hatnlet,  and  Miss 
Terry  presenting  Viola  and  Ophelia.  Mr.Wills's  drama 
of  "  Charles  I."  had  a  single  representation.  The  atten- 
dance throughout  Mr.  Irving's  four  weeks  has  been 
large.  The  several  plays  produced  by  him  have  been 
set  upon  the  stage  in  a  careful  manner  and  with 
as  much  correctness  in  dresses  and  scenery  as  is  ever 
desirable  in  these  matters.  Mr.  Irving  has  had  the 
sagacity  to  employ  scenic  artists  of  the  highest  order, 
and  to  enlist  the  services  of  a  stage  manager  (Mr.  H. 
J.  Loveday)  of  ripe  experience  and  great  and  peculiar 
talent  and  energy ;  but  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  sup- 
pose that  Mr.  Irving's  renown  rests  upon  stage  pictures 
or  stage  management.  To  the  illumination  of  the  plays 
10  97 


98  HENRY  IRVING. 

by  adroit  devices  of  treatment  he  has  given  thoughtful 
and  thorough  attention ;  but  it  is  as  an  actor  that  he  has 
made  his  fame.  Comment  upon  his  recent  perform- 
ance of  Hamlet  has  already  been  as  far  enlarged  as  is 
desirable;  but  that  performance,  for  example,  what- 
ever may  be  its  blemishes  of  elocution  or  its  questiona- 
ble expedients  of  stage  business,  would  suffice  to  show 
him  possessed  of  the  intuition  of  genius.  It  has  aroused 
controversy.  Mr.  Irving's  personal  peculiarities  invari- 
bly  do  that — for  even  when  he  is  walking  quite  in  the 
beaten  track  they  are  so  marked  and  singular  that  they 
distract  and  perplex  the  general  observation.  But 
adverse  criticism  of  Mr.  Irving's  acting,  such  as  is  war- 
ranted by  justice,  amounts  simply  to  this  —  that  his 
physical  means  of  expression  are,  in  certain  respects, 
distinctly  limited,  and  that  his  temperament,  face, 
person,  and  individual  demeanour  make  him  unfit  for 
some  characters,  and  less  suitable  for  some  than  for 
others.  Yet  he  is  a  great  actor,  and  his  performance 
of  Hamlet  would  alone  suffice  to  prove  it. 

His  version  of  the  tragedy,  indeed,  is  not  as  well 
made  as  it  might  be.  He  has  restored  certain  essen- 
tial passages  —  such  as  the  delirious  speeches  of  Ham- 
let, toward  the  end  of  Act  I.,  which  are  more  often 
omitted  than  used  —  the  usually  omitted  parts  of  Ham- 
let's dialogue  with  the  courtiers,  and  certain  bits  in  the 
play  scene ;  but  he  has  dropped  Ophelia's  account  of 
Hamlet's  dishevelment,  and  the  whole  of  the  first  scene 
of  the  fourth  act,  together  with  various  lines,  here  and 
there,  in  the  text  of  the  different  minor  characters. 
There  is  much  of  "  Hamlet "  that  has  to  be  cut,  impera- 
tively ;  but  a  scrupulous  observer  of  these  matters 
would  like  to  see  the  excisions  made  with  purpose 


HENRY  IRVING.  99 

and  never  with  caprice.  Mr.  Irving  does  not  use  the 
portraits,  but  he  does  make  use  of  "tablets."  There 
are  various  other  points  of  this  sort  that  could  be  noted 
and  questioned ;  and  it  is  certain  that  Mr.  Irving  is 
defective  as  a  speaker  of  blank  verse.  But  when  all  is 
said  the  fact  remains  that  the  actor  has  shown  a  great 
ideal  of  Hamlet,  and  that  his  execution  has,  in  many 
ways,  matched  with  his  ideal.  Miss  Ellen  Terry's 
finest  success  has  been  made  in  OpJielia.  The  rare 
beauty  of  this  performance  eludes  description.  It  is  the 
embodiment  of  a  broken-hearted,  distracted  woman; 
but  the  woman  is  one  of  extraordinary  loveliness  in 
her  original  nature,  and  the  touch  of  frenzy  only 
seemed  to  invest  her  with  spiritual  radiance.  The 
execution  was  as  free  as  a  summer  wind. 

Mr.  Irving's  Malvolio  is  the  best  that  has  been  seen 
in  recent  years.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had  got  in- 
side of  this  character.  The  formalism  of  Malvolio,  his 
scrupulous  cleanliness,  his  precise  demeanour,  his  con- 
stitutional habit  of  routine,  his  inordinate  self-compla- 
cency,—  over  which,  nevertheless,  his  judgment  keeps  a 
kind  of  watch, —  his  sensitiveness  of  self-love,  his  con- 
dition of  being  real  in  all  that  he  feels  and  suffers, — 
these  attributes  Mr.  Irving  combined  into  a  distinct  and 
rounded  personality,  of  which  the  humour  is  —  as  it 
should  be  —  wholly  unconscious.  His  sustained  pres- 
ervation of  the  identity  was  especially  impressive,  and 
he  was  most  characteristic  in  his  dry,  distinctly  articu- 
lated, unconsciously  pompous  delivery  of  the  text.  One 
notable  incident  in  the  revival  of  "  Twelfth  Night "  was 
a  dashing,  sparkling,  gleeful  performance  of  Maria  by 
Miss  Payne.  Mr.  George  Alexander,  appearing  as 
Orsino,  gained  distinction  for  dignity  of  manner  and 


ioo  HENRY  IRVING. 

for  delicacy  and  sweetness  in  the  delivery  of  the  Duke's 
impassioned  speeches.  In  the  revival  of  "  Charles  I." 
Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry  repeated  their  artistic 
success  of  an  earlier  time.  This  play  is  a  series  of 
pictures,  and  is  deficient  of  dramatic  action ;  but  it  does 
present  character,  and  it  contains  situations  that  affect 
the  heart.  The  intense  earnestness  of  Mr.  Irving's 
nature  is  conspicuously  shown  in  his  power  to  invest 
the  character  of  Charles  I.  with  unflagging  sincerity, 
and  to  sustain  it,  before  the  imagination,  in  nobility 
and  pathos.  Innate  aristocracy  never  had  a  better 
emblem  than  this  performance.  Self-concentration 
and  high-bred  reserve  are  maintained,  even  through  a 
most  afflicting  scene  of  farewell,  to  the  pathetic  "re- 
member" with  which  this  sad  figure  passes  out  of 
view  —  to  live  forever  in  tender  remembrance.  A 
strong  feature  of  this  revival  was  Mr.  Howe's  impersona- 
tion of  Lord  Huntley  —  a  manly,  tender,  rugged,  sim- 
ple, and  discreet  piece  of  work.  It  seemed  as  if  the  old 
knight  had  come  to  life  out  of  Scott's  "Woodstock." 
The  final  performance  presented  "The  Bells,"  in 
which  Mr.  Irving,  as  Mathias,  is  seen  in  the  full  vigour 
of  his  imagination.  He  had  a  great  house  and  an 
affectionate  greeting  of  farewell.  This  was  his  closing 
address : 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  I  wish  I  could  tell  you 
in  the  simplest  phrase  how  deeply  we  are  indebted  for 
a  renewal  of  that  generous  welcome  which  we  received 
during  our  first  visit  to  America.  It  is  difficult  on 
such  an  occasion  as  this  to  express  what  is  in  one's 
heart,  without  running  the  risk  of  seeming  fulsome  on 
the  one  hand  or  indifferent  on  the  other.  But  this  I 
can  tell  you,  that  our  third  visit  to  New -York,  which 
ends  to-night,   has  been  —  if  I   may   say   so  —  more 


HENRY  IRVING.  ioi 

gratifying  than  our  first;  for  it  has  proved  that  we 
have  a  place  in  your  esteem — a  place  which  will  be 
remembered  and  cherished  by  me  as  long  as  I  live. 
You  doubtless  have  heard,  and  will  hear,  many  strange 
and  odd  fictions  about  our  humble  selves,  but  you  will 
never  hear  too  deep  an  expression  of  our  appreciation 
of  the  infinite  kindness  which  we  have  received  at 
your  hands;  and  that  feeling  is  echoed  by  a  dear 
friend  and  fellow-worker  of  mine, —  a  friend  who  holds 
so  enviable  a  sway  over  your  hearts, —  Miss  Ellen 
Terry.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  shall  once  again 
have  the  pleasure  and  privilege  of  appearing  before 
you,  next  March,  and  then,  as  actors,  we  must  take 
a  last  and  long  farewell.  On  this  subject  I  shall  not 
dwell, — sufficient  to  the  day  is  the  pain  thereof, — but 
look  forward  to  our  next  meeting,  assuring  you  that  my 
colleagues  are  as  sensible  as  I  am  of  the  courtesy,  the 
welcome,  and  the  generous  good-will  which  we  have 
received  at  your  hands,  and  the  remembrance  of  it  will 
ever  bring  happiness  to  our  hearts. 


10* 


XVIII 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  STAGE. 


THE  assailants  of  the  stage,  who  are  mostly  repre- 
sentatives of  the  church,  seem  to  believe  that  their 
fulminations  are  potent  and  effective.  Yet  the  stage 
continues  to  grow  in  wealth,  power,  and  public  consid- 
eration. An  impartial  observer  might  well  be  amused 
at  the  fatuity  with  which  these  strenuous  censors  oppose 
the  clamour  of  assertion  to  the  inexorable  logic  of  facts. 
If  the  stage  were  really  an  immoral  institution  it  would 
not  enjoy  the  favour  of  any  save  the  depraved ;  whereas, 
in  fact,  it  has  the  approval  of  the  majority —  and  the 
majority  of  the  community  is  moral.  Putting  religion 
out  of  the  question,  there  is  a  power  in  the  affections, 
in  the  bond  of  family,  in  reverence  for  the  hearth-stone 
of  home,  which,  by  itself,  insures  the  coherence  of  a 
virtuous  society,  and  would  make  a  radically  corrupt 
stage  impossible.  The  reason  that  the  charge  of  im- 
morality against  the  stage  has  failed  is  simply  that  the 
charge  is  false,  and  that  right-thinking  persons  know 
it  to  be  so. 

Both  stage  and  church  have  been  used  as  cloaks  for 
vice,  but  that  is  the  fault  of  evil-doers  and  not  of  the 


HENRY  IRVING.  103 


institutions  themselves.  There  have  been  profligate 
actors,  and  there  have  been  profligate  clergymen  ;  and 
there  is  reason  for  surprise  at  the  forbearance  of  the 
stage  toward  the  church,  considering  the  animosity  so 
often  exhibited  by  the  latter.  It  is  not  long  since  a 
minister  of  Christ  publicly  stigmatised  an  actress,  by 
name,  as  being  "  as  vile  a  hag  as  the  sewers  of  Paris 
ever  spewed  into  the  state-room  of  an  Atlantic 
steam-ship."  This  is  the  kind  of  provocation  that 
the  pulpit  gives,  and  this  is  the  kind  of  language 
that  clergymen  too  often  use.  It  is  needless  to  re- 
mark that  no  man  who  is  not  a  clergyman  would 
ever  dream  of  applying  such  words  to  a  woman.  No 
respectable  actor  would  ever  speak  in  that  way  of  even 
the  most  vituperative  assailant  of  his  profession.  The 
stage  seldom  or  never  strikes  back.  At  long  intervals, 
to  be  sure,  an  actor  plays  Aminadab  Sleek,  or  Mr. 
Chadband;  but  even  then  the  shaft  of  satire  is 
directed  against  sanctimonious  hypocrisy,  which  Christ 
himself  rebuked.  The  stage  does  not  attack  religion 
or  virtue. 

It  is  true  that  the  stage  does  not  aim  to  teach  Chris- 
tianity. But  neither  does  it  aim  to  teach  the  differen- 
tial calculus.  There  is  a  place  for  everything.  Chris- 
tian ethics  on  the  stage  would  be  as  inappropriate  as 
Mr.  Owens's  Solon  Shingle  in  the  pulpit.  The  legiti- 
mate purpose  of  acting  has  been  specified  by  Shakes- 
peare in  language  that  no  writer  can  improve  and  that 
no  reader  needs  to  see  quoted.  The  worst  mistake 
ever  made  by  the  stage  and  the  most  offensive  attitude 
ever  assumed  by  it  are  seen  when,  as  in  "  Camille  " 
and  two  or  three  similar  plays,  it  tries  to  deal  with  what 
is  really  the  function  of  the  church, —  the  consequence 


104  HENRY  IRVING. 

of  sin  in  the  human  soul.     Here  it  makes  a  disastrous 
and  mournful  failure. 

There  is  no  need  to  discuss  the  state  of  the  stage  as 
it  was  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.  and  John  Dryden.  All 
thinkers  agree  as  to  that.  It  was  vile.  The  attack 
upon  it  began  promptly.  Jeremy  Collier's  onslaught 
was  made  in  1698,  and  it  was  made  with  good  reason 
and  great  force  ;  and  a  reform  of  the  stage  almost  im- 
mediately ensued.  Cibber,  Dogget,  and  Wilks,  when 
they  obtained  the  Drury  Lane  patent  [1714],  at  once 
effected  many  desirable  improvements.  Later  still, 
Thomas  Sheridan,  in  Dublin,  and  David  Garrick,  in 
London,  were  especially  commended  for  their  salutary 
and  effective  measures  for  the  purification  of  the  theatre. 
It  did  not  become  a  Sunday-school,  but  it  was  im- 
proved ;  and  it  has  kept  pace  with  the  moral  tone  of 
society  ever  since.  There  have,  indeed,  been  several 
serious  abuses  —  spurts  of  indelicate  spectacle  and  of 
wanton  French  opera.  But  these  are  the  excrescences 
of  the  stage,  and  not  the  institution  itself — the  expe- 
dients of  speculators,  temporary,  evanescent,  having 
their  little  day  and  going  out  of  fashion.  Davenant 
introduced  such  things  in  England  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  they  have  cropped  out,  intermittently, 
ever  since,  with  reinforcements  from  the  French  thea- 
tre. Nobody  questions  the  viciousness  of  such  pieces 
as  "La  Grande  Duchesse  "  and  "  La  Belle  Helene  "  ; 
but  these  are  not  types  of  the  genuine  permanent  liter- 
ature which,  in  furnishing  a  vehicle  for  acting,  has  kept 
the  stage  alive.  Plays  like  "  Grandfather  Whitehead," 
the  "Willow  Copse,"  and  "The  Chimney  Corner" 
will  always  hold  their  own,  when  they  are  properly  acted. 
"  The  Hunchback,"  when  Miss  Mary  Anderson  appears 


HENRY  IRVING.  105 


in  it,  always  draws  good  houses  —  a  merited  tribute  as 
well  to  a  good  play  as  to  the  brilliant  genius  and 
thoughtful  art  of  a  great  actress.  The  theatre  is  never 
either  much  better  or  much  worse  than  the  commun- 
ity in  which  it  exists. 

To  estimate  the  actual  influence  of  the  stage  of  the 
present  day  we  must  consider  who  the  actors  are  that 
prosper  and  what  plays  achieve  the  widest  and  most 
permanent  success.  Edwin  Booth,  John  McCullough, 
Lawrence  Barrett,  Joseph  Jefferson,  Mary  Anderson, 
Genevieve  Ward,  John  L.  Toole,  Henry  Irving, — 
these  are  chief  among  the  leaders  of  the  stage  in  our 
day ;  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  would  not  be 
astonished  at  being  accused  of  producing  an  immoral 
piece.  Wallack's  Theatre  is  the  leading  theatre  of 
New-York,  and  the  plays  that  have  earned  the  most 
money  in  Wallack's  Theatre  are  Mr.  Wallack's  play  of 
"Rosedale"  and  Mr.  Boucicault's  play  of  "The 
Shaughraun."  Both  of  them  are  innocent.  Of  Shakes- 
peare's plays  at  least  fourteen  are  in  continual  use,  in 
a  form  beyond  rational  reproach. 

Objection  is  specially  made  against  the  old  come- 
dies ;  but  it  appears  to  be  forgotten  that  the  old  come- 
dies do  not  constitute  the  staple  of  contemporary 
dramatic  representations.  In  fact  only  a  few  of  them 
are  ever  acted,  either  in  England  or  America.  The 
number  of  English  plays  recorded  as  existing  at  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century  is  about  six  thousand. 
How  many  of  these  survive  in  actual  use  in  the  thea- 
tre ?  Not  fifty,  altogether.  At  long  intervals  we  may, 
for  a  few  nights,  see  "  The  School  for  Scandal,"  "She 
Stoops  to  Conquer,"  "  Wine  Works  Wonders,"  "  The 
Road  to   Ruin,"    "The    Belle's    Stratagem,"    "The 


106  HENRY  IRVING. 

Rivals,"  "The  Poor  Gentleman,"  "A  Cure  for  the 
Heartache,"  "To  Marry  or  not  to  Marry,"  "The 
Clandestine  Marriage, "  "  She  Would  and  She 
Wouldn't,"  "The  Busybody,"  "Wild  Oats,"  and 
"The  Wonder":  but  such  performances  are  ex- 
tremely infrequent  and  generally  unpopular  and  un- 
remunerative.  Ben  Jonson,  Cartwright,  Fletcher, 
Congreve,  Murphy,  Foote,  Dibdin,  Cherry,  O'Keefe, 
Prince  Hoare,  Cumberland,  Cibber, — all  these  and 
many  more,  and  all  of  them  writers  of  exceptional 
dramatic  brilliancy,  are  practically  as  dead  as  if  they 
never  had  existed.  It  is  twenty  years  since  "  Love 
for  Love  "  was  last  acted.  "  The  Man  of  the  World  " 
died  with  Hackett  and  "The  Lyar"  died  with 
Charles  Mathews.  When  the  old  comedies  are  acted, 
nowadays,  they  are  acted  chiefly  as  curiosities,  and 
they  are  invariably  given  in  edited,  altered,  and 
pruned  versions.  Mr.  Jefferson  —  surely  an  authority 
in  such  matters,  and  never  found  anywhere  but  on  the 
side  of  goodness,  right  and  true  taste  —  uses  three  of 
them:  "The  Rivals,"  "The  Poor  Gentleman,"  and 
"The  Heir  at  Law."  But  he  expunges  from  them 
every  coarse  expression,  and  that  has  been  his  invaria- 
ble custom  ever  since  he  acquired  the  authority  to  do 
as  he  liked  in  his  profession.  The  few  indelicate  lines 
of  "  The  School  for  Scandal  "  (and  they  are  very  few 
and  unnecessary)  are  usually  spoken.  It  is  to  be  said, 
however,  for  the  text  of  this  comedy,  that  not  a  single 
indelicate  word  or  allusion  is  written  in  it  for  the  mere 
sake  of  impropriety  or  with  the  intention  to  corrupt. 
Sheridan  portrays  a  company  of  scandal-mongers  such 
as  existed  in  his  time,  and  he  makes  them  talk  as 
such;  and  then  he  rebukes   and  defeats  them,   and 


HENRY  IRVING.  107 


covers  them  with  ridicule  and  contempt.     He  portrays 
the  affectation  of  virtue,  also, —  which   is  one  of  the 
infallible  signs  of  a  bad  nature, —  and  he  utterly  over- 
whelms it  with  defeat  and  scorn.     His  morality  as  to 
trifles  is  seen  to  be  careless  and  even  indulgent.     His 
colouring  of  the  spendthrift  is  rosier  than  might  be 
wished.     Still,  the  teaching  of  the  play  is  exemplary, 
and  it  exerts  no  hurtful  influence.    You  cannot  rebuke 
an  evil  unless  you  state  what  the  evil  is  that  you  wish 
to  rebuke.     You   cannot,    in   a  play,    exemplify   the 
triumph  of  a  hero  over  a  rascal  unless  you  depict  both 
the  rascal  and  the  hero.     Certain  works  of  art,  to  be 
sure,  are  right  in  precept  while  wrong  in  spirit  —  be- 
cause their  authors  may,  insidiously  and  adroitly,  aim 
at  diffusing  impurity  while  ostensibly  inculcating  moral 
excellence.     The  novels  of  Emile  Zola,  some  of  which 
have   been   turned   into  plays,    have    practically   this 
effect.     But  such  works  are  few  and  "  The  School  for 
Scandal "  is  not  one  of  them.     Its  purpose  was  dis- 
tinctly good ;  and  all  moral  scientists  declare  that  the 
moral  quality  of  an  action  resides  in  the  purpose  with 
which  the  action  is  performed.     The  censor  would  be 
right  in  ascribing  an  evil  purpose  to  Etherege  and 
perhaps  to  Dryden,  but  not  in  imputing  it  to  Sheridan. 
The  plays  of  the  Restoration  are    often    vile,   but 
those  of  the  eighteenth  century  are  not.     Coarse,  they 
may  be,  now  and  then;  but  as  to  filthy  words  the 
coarsest  of  them  falls  short  of  the  books  of  "Num- 
bers," "Ezekiel,"  and  "Jeremiah,"  in  the  Bible;  and, 
coarse  or  refined,   they  are  practically  a  dead  letter 
to-day  —  the  great  bulk  of  old  English  comedy  being 
unseen,  unread,  forgotten,  and  unknown.     When  John 
Gilbert,  William  Warren,  Joseph  Jefferson,  Lester  Wal- 


108  HENRY  IRVING. 

lack,  Charles  Fisher,  William  Davidge,  and  John  S. 
Clarke  shall  have  passed  away,  the  old  comedies,  so  far 
as  the  American  stage  is  concerned,  will  have  passed 
away  with  them.  The  traditional  manner  of  acting 
them  —  the  dash,  the  "gig,"  the  sparkle,  the  lofty, 
superb  demeanour  —  is  fast  dying  out.  There  need  be 
no  solicitude,  accordingly,  as  to  the  alleged  iniquity  of 
the  old  comedies.  But,  even  if  they  were  to  any  con- 
siderable extent  in  possession  of  the  stage,  if  suitably 
edited  and  adequately  acted  they  would  at  their  best 
prove  not  only  inoffensive,  but,  as  to  the  elements  of 
character,  dialogue,  equivoke,  and  humour,  superior  to 
many  of  the  plays  of  to-day. 

After  "  the  spacious  times  of  great  Elizabeth"  had 
declined,  and  prior  to  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  the 
theatres  in  England  were  in  a  wretched  condition. 
There  was  an  inherited  dramatic  literature  of  superb 
and  surpassing  excellence  in  all  the  higher  attributes 
of  literary  genius  and  art.  But  it  lived  in  a  hovel. 
At  the  Restoration  taste  and  luxury  came  in,  and 
with  them  came  in  licentiousness.  A  reaction  fol- 
lowed, and  the  stage  arose  to  a  still  better  condition. 
Under  Garrick's  leadership  it  made  a  great  advance. 
In  later  days  it  received  additional  impetus  to  noble 
improvement  from  the  influence  of  the  Kemble  fam- 
ily and  the  efforts  of  Macready  and  Charles  Kean. 
Within  the  last  ten  years,  in  London,  Henry  Irving 
has  administered  its  affairs  in  a  thoroughly  royal  way, 
and  —  having  ampler  resources  than  they  had  with 
which  to  work,  and  a  much  larger  and  perhaps  more 
attentive  and  sympathetic,  certainly  a  more  fastidious 
and  helpful,  public  to  address  —  has  surpassed  all  his 
predecessors  in  the  splendid  task  of  developing  and 


HENRY  IRVING.  109 


applying  its  beneficence,  and  keeping  its  intellectual 
standard  high  and  its  moral  condition  pure.  Here  in 
America,  after  an  initiatory  period  of  great  hardship, 
the  stage  took  excellent  shape  in  such  institutions  as 
the  old  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  in  Philadelphia,  the 
John  Street  house,  and  afterward  the  Park  (at  first 
called  simply  "The  Theatre"),  in  New- York,  and 
the  Federal  Street  Theatre,  in  Boston.  The  stock 
companies  then  were  composed  of  actors  almost  every 
one  of  whom  would  in  our  day  be  a  star.  Scholar- 
ship was  the  rule,  thorough  discipline  prevailed,  and 
perfect  decorum  was  imperative.  Through  the  growth 
of  our  country  and  the  broadening  of  the  theatrical  field 
by  the  multiplication  of  theatres  the  old  stock  system 
has  been  almost  entirely  destroyed,  and  opportunity 
has  been  provided  for  the  inroad  of  many  hybrid  and 
distasteful,  or  downright  offensive  forms  of  amusement, 
all  of  which  shelter  themselves  under  the  name  of  the 
stage.  In  this  way  the  general  dramatic  tone  has  been 
lowered.  America  has  as  good  actors  now  as  she  ever 
had ;  but  their  forces  are  not  concentrated,  and  there- 
fore do  not  seem  as  formidable  as  once  they  did. 
Nevertheless,  the  true  dramatic  spirit  burns  as  brightly 
as  ever  in  this  land,  and  the  practical  success  of  such 
actors  as  Booth,  Jefferson,  McCullough,  Lawrence  Bar- 
rett, Miss  Mary  Anderson,  Miss  Clara  Morris,  Miss 
Ward,  Mme.  Modjeska,  Mme.  Janauschek,  Signor 
Salvini,  and  Maggie  Mitchell  is  a  substantial  evidence 
of  it.  If  a  measure  of  success  also  attends  divers 
unworthy  exhibitions,  that  is  the  fault  not  of  the 
stage  but  of  the  public.  "  Look  elsewhere,  sire  ! " 
These  extraneous  shows  are  not  the  American 
theatre,  any  more  than  the  thimble-riggers  and  gipsy 
11 


no  HENRY  IRVING. 

fortune-tellers  on  Epsom  downs  are  the  race  for  the 
Derby. 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  the  extreme  sensitiveness 
of  certain  moralists  as  to  the  alleged  corrupting  influ- 
ence of  the  stage.  They  pay  that  institution  a  great 
compliment  in  ascribing  to  it  such  remarkable  power 
over  the  public  morals  ;  or  else,  surely,  they  must  con- 
ceive individual  virtue  to  be  exceedingly  fragile.  If  a 
censor  of  the  stage  were  to  arraign  it  as  at  times  a 
bore  it  would  be  possible  to  appreciate  his  feelings  and 
sympathise  with  his  views.  Many  of  the  proceedings 
visible  upon  the  stage  are  trivial  and  tedious  to  a 
degree  not  readily  expressed.  Stuffy  scenery,  ear-pierc- 
ing music,  execrable  elocution,  nasal  vocalism,  obvious 
ignorance,  offensive  conceit,  pitiable  vanity,  the  sad 
lack  of  reticence  which  so  often  permits  a  public  dis- 
closure of  individualities  that  Nature  plainly  intended 
for  sweet  retirement  and  deep  domestic  seclusion, — 
all  these  blemishes  upon  the  stage  are  appreciable. 
But  where  does  the  immoral  influence  appear  ?  How 
does  it  strike  ?  In  what  manner  does  its  victim  con- 
duct himself  ?  Does  the  youth  upon  seeing  Iago,  for 
example,  presently  rush  forth  and  prod  a  fancied 
Cassia  in  a  dark  street  ?  Is  he  driven  to  incontinence 
by  the  sight  of  a  pretty  woman  playing  Parthenia,  or 
Pauline,  or  Desdemona,  or  Lady  Teazle  ?  What,  then, 
must  be  thought  of  the  virtue  which  melts  like  wax  in 
the  heat  of  such  exceedingly  mild  fires  as  these  ?  What 
becomes  of  such  a  person  when  he  is  led  into  society 
and  obliged  to  stand  the  tremendous  strain  of  an  even- 
ing party?  It  is  a  great  pity,  surely,  for  certain 
philosophers,  and  for  the  weak  vessels  of  the  earth  in 
general,  that  Nature  has  made  women  alluring  and 


HENRY  IRVING.  m 

roses  sweet.  But  there  is  one  way  of  safety  for  all 
such  imperiled  creatures.  If  the  stage  is  really  thought 
to  weaken  character  by  undue  enticement,  you  have 
only  to  present  it  as  it  really  is,  and  that  dreaded 
glamour  will  vanish  like  smoke.  Divest  it  of  nonsense 
in  your  thought.  Quit  describing  it  as  a  fascination 
of  the  devil.  Cease  telling  ignorant  people  to  keep 
away  from  the  one  particular  room  in  Blue-Beard's 
palace.  There  is  not  among  men  a  more  exacting, 
laborious,  stern  profession  than  that  of  the  stage. 
There  is  no  place  more  strictly  mechanical  and  prosaic 
than  a  theatre.  The  stage  is  not  a  Paphian  Bower ; 
it  is  a  machine-shop.  You  may  as  sensibly  allege  the 
immoral  influence  of  a  cotton  factory  as  the  immoral 
influence  of  the  stage,  to  those  who  know  it. 

The  worst  influence  that  proceeds  from  the  stage  is 
one  that  also  proceeds  from  the  pulpit,  and  perhaps 
from  all  artistic  pursuits, — the  possible  weakening  of 
character,  from  encouragement  of  the  love  of  admira- 
tion in  persons  who  are  before  the  public,  whether  as 
actors,  orators,  writers,  preachers,  or  personal  exhibi- 
tors of  any  kind.  It  takes  a  long  time  for  a  man  to 
learn  the  usual  vagueness,  the  frequent  ignorance,  the 
heedless  flippancy,  and,  therefore,  the  general  worth- 
lessness  of  the  opinions  and  remarks  of  most  other 
people  about  himself  or  his  proceedings  ;  to  learn  that 
the  only  rational  way  to  live  is  to  make  duty  a  rigid 
law  of  life  and  utterly  to  ignore  what  people  say. 
Many  men  never  learn  this;  and  actors  in  particular, 
whose  fortunes  depend  so  immediately  on  popu- 
lar liking,  are  sometimes  pitiable  in  their  restless, 
craving  vanity.  The  same  thing  is  sometimes  seen 
in  clergymen.     At  least  half  of  all  that  occurs  in  the 


112  HENRY  IRVING. 

world,  whether  on  the  stage  or  elsewhere,  is  of  no 
public  importance  and  ought  never  to  be  noticed  in 
any  way.  We  should  see  fewer  cases  of  vanity,  and 
hear  less  of  nobodies  and  nothings,  if  society  and  the 
press  had  not  such  an  inveterate  disposition  to  "  chroni- 
cle small  beer." 

The  literature  of  the  stage  has  not  improved,  and  for 
simple  and  obvious  reasons.  After  Shakespeare  it 
could  not  improve ;  for  that  was  the  flood-tide.  No 
such  man  has  since  appeared.  Then  likewise  the 
stage  has  long  been  a  costly  institution,  dependent  on 
immediate  gains  and  obliged  to  aim  at  pleasing  an 
immediate  audience.  For  this  reason,  as  well  as  by 
their  nature,  most  of  the  writers  for  the  stage  have 
been  followers  and  not  leaders  of  the  public  sentiment. 
Great  writers  have  their  credentials  from  God;  little 
ones  are  chartered  by  the  life  which  surrounds  them ; 
and  it  is  the  little  writers  who  have  furnished  most  of 
the  stage  literature  of  the  last  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years.  Shakespeare  produced  his  plays  upon  the 
stage ;  but  he  wrote  them  on  a  scale  and  with  a  scope 
that  transcend  all  theatrical  needs  and  limits,  and  made 
them  for  a  stage  as  broad  as  the  world  and  as  perma- 
nent as  the  human  race.  Were  there  no  stage  at  all 
these  works  would  still  survive  in  all  their  imperial 
power  and  brilliant  renown  ;  but,  without  a  stage,  the 
works  of  most  dramatists  would  vanish  like  the  morn- 
ing mist.  Yet  with  regard  to  modern  stage  litera- 
ture let  us  not  forget  that  although  the  nineteenth 
century  has  not  in  this  attained  to  the  altitude  of  the 
Elizabethan  age,  it  has  fully  equalled  that  of  any 
later  period.  Knowles,  Jerrold,  Talfourd,  Taylor,  Mar- 
ston,  Bulwer,  Gilbert,  Robertson,  Boucicault,  Boker, 


HENRY  IRVING.  113 

Payne,  Willis,  and  Epes  Sargent  are  alone  sufficient 
to  prove  this. 

The  principal  fault  of  the  stage  of  the  present  time 
is  frivolity,  and  this  comes  from  the  frivolity  of  the  pub- 
lic and  the  press.  Acting  is  a  learned  profession.  The 
stage  should  be  devoted  to  good  plays,  well  acted,  and  to 
nothing  else.  The  position  of  acting  as  a  learned  pro- 
fession and  the  utility  of  the  stage  as  an  intellectual  force 
are  not  entirely  appreciated.  The  public  is  too  easily 
pleased.  Many  silly  things  are  accepted.  Many  com- 
monplace persons  are  admired  and  commended.  News- 
papers, almost  without  exception,  sedulously  record,  as 
matters  of  importance,  the  theatrical  doings  of  obscure 
individuals,  who  by  dint  of  three- sheet  posters  and  lith- 
ograph portraits  assume  to  be  actors,  and,  as  Dr.  John- 
son said,  make  themselves  public  without  making 
themselves  known.  All  this  is  out  of  proportion. 
Such  a  state  of  things  tends  to  lower  the  value  of  criti- 
cal recognition,  cheapen  the  rewards  of  effort  in  dra- 
matic art,  and  bring  serious  and  splendid  endeavour 
and  high  ambition  into  contempt. 

The  world  does  not  advance  in  wisdom,  virtue,  and 
happiness  by  denial  and  destruction.  All  institutions 
should  be  bent  to  the  good  of  all  mankind.  It  was 
John  Wesley,  a  clergyman,  who  said  that  the  devil 
should  not  have  all  the  good  music.  Men  should  not 
make  their  lives  tributary  to  their  pursuits,  but  their 
pursuits  tributary  to  their  lives  —  drawing  from  the 
stage,  as  from  all  things  else,  whatever  is  good  and 
strong,  whatever  will  help  to  build  up  and  round  out 
a  noble  character.  Must  we  destroy  the  stage  because 
a  milksop  may  chance  to  be  injured  by  it  ?  Is  all  life 
to  be  squared  to  the  tastes  and  needs  of  simpletons  ? 


U4  HENRY  IRVING. 

The  thing  to  be  desired  is  gravity  and  thoroughness 
in  character,  more  scholarship,  habits  of  study,  the 
rare  and  noble  habit  of  thinking,  in  which  few  persons 
ever  indulge.  As  the  ideals  of  intellectual  effort  rise 
higher  in  the  community,  the  sincere  workers  upon  the 
stage,  as  in  every  other  department  of  art,  will  be  en- 
couraged and  strengthened  and  the  stage  itself  will  be 
ennobled. 


&&&!& 


XIX 

FAREWELL 


FAR  off  beyond  the  shining  sea, 
Where  scarlet  poppies  glisten 
And  daisies  on  the  emerald  lea 
Lift  up  their  heads  and  listen, 
Where  Thames  and  Avon  glance  and  glow, 

To-day  the  waters,  straying, 
Will  murmur  in  their  tranquil  flow 
The  words  that  we  are  saying. 

Ah,  not  in  parting  hours  alone 

Are  those  sweet  accents  spoken ; 
Farewell,  that  sobs  in  sorrow's  moan, 

May  smile  in  welcome's  token. 
Farewell,  farewell,  our  hearts  will  sigh, 

When  void  and  dark  his  place  is, 
But,  oh,  fare  well  is  England's  cry, 

To  him  her  love  embraces. 

"5 


1 1 6  HENR  Y  IR  VING. 

Farewell,  thou  child  of  many  a  prayer, 

Thou  pride  of  her  that  bore  thee  ! 
All  crystal  be  the  seas  that  bear 

And  skies  that  sparkle  o'er  thee  ! 
Thy  mother's  heart,  thy  mother's  lip 

Will  soon  again  caress  thee  — 
We  can  but  watch  thy  lessening  ship 

And  softly  say,  God  bless  thee ! 


But  let  the  golden  waves  leap  up, 

While  yet  our  hearts  beat  near  him ! 
No  bitter  drop  be  in  the  cup 

With  which  our  hope  would  cheer  him ! 
Pour  the  red  roses  at  his  feet ! 

Wave  laurel  boughs  above  him  ! 
And  if  we  part  or  if  we  meet 

Be  glad  and  proud  to  love  him  ! 

His  life  has  made  this  iron  age 

More  grand  and  fair  in  story ; 
Illum'ed  our  Shakespeare's  sacred  page 

With  new  and  deathless  glory; 
Refreshed  the  love  of  noble  fame 

In  hearts  all  sadly  faring; 
And  lit  anew  the  dying  flame 

Of  genius  and  of  daring. 

Long  may  his  radiant  summer  smile 
Where  Albion's  rose  is  dreaming, 

And  over  art's  hesperian  isle 
His  royal  banner  streaming; 


HENRY  IRVING.  117 

And  every  trumpet-blast  that  rolls 

From  Britain's  lips  to  hail  him, 
Be  echoed  in  our  kindred  souls, 

Whose  truth  can  never  fail  him. 

On  your  white  wings,  ye  angel  years, 

Through  roseate  sunshine  springing, 
Waft  fortune  from  all  happier  spheres, 

With  garlands  and  with  singing  ! 
Make  strong  that  tender  heart  and  true  — 

That  thought  of  heaven  to  guide  him  — 
And  blessings  pour,  like  diamond  dew, 

On  her  that  walks  beside  him  1 

And  when  is  said  the  last  farewell, 

So  solemn  and  so  certain, 
And  Fate  shall  strike  the  prompter's  bell, 

To  drop  the  final  curtain, 
Be  his,  whom  every  muse  hath  blest, 

That  best  of  earthly  closes  — 
To  sink  to  rest  on  England's  breast 

And  sleep  beneath  her  roses. 


XX 


APPENDIX. 


-  +  - 


The  London  Lyceum  Dramatic  Company. 
First  American  Tour,  1883-84. 


-+- 


Miss  Ellen  Terry. 
Miss  G.  Pauncefort. 
Miss  Jessie  Millward. 
Miss  L.  Payne. 
Miss  Amy  Coleridge. 
Miss  C.  Daubigny. 
Miss  K.  Brown. 
Miss  F.  Holland. 
Miss  L.  Harwood. 
Miss  F.  Harwood. 
Miss  K.  Harwood. 
Mrs.  Louther. 
Miss  E.  de  Silva. 
Miss  T.  Russell. 
Mr.  J.  Harwood. 
Mr.  J.  Millward. 
Mr.  C.  Epitaux. 
Mr.  T.  Dwyer. 
Mr.  H.  Kemble  Barnet. 
Mr.  J.  H.  Allen. 


Mr.  Henry  Irving. 
Mr.  William  Terriss. 
Mr.  H.  Howe. 
Mr.  T.  Mead. 
Mr.  T.  Wenman. 
Mr.  F.  Tyars. 
Mr.  N.  Forbes. 
Mr.  S.  Johnson. 
Mr.  C.  Harbury. 
Mr.  Haviland. 
Mr.  J.  Carter. 
Mr.  J.  Archer. 
Mr.  H.  Louther. 
Mr.  C.  Clifford. 
Mr.  M.  Harvey. 
Mr.  F.  Dwyer. 
Mr.  W.  Marion. 
Mr.  W.  Baker. 
Mr.  C.  T.  Helmsley. 
Mr.  J.  Robertson. 


no 


The  London  Lyceum  Dramatic  Company. 
Second  American  Tour,  1884-85. 


-+- 


Mr.  Henry 
Miss  Ellen  Terry. 
Miss  G.  Pauncefort. 
Miss  Winifred  Emery. 
Miss  L.  Payne. 
Miss  M.  Foster. 
Miss  L.  Marion. 
Miss  C.  Daubigny. 
Miss  A.  Daubigny. 
Miss  A.  Allen. 
Miss  K.  Brown. 
Miss  F.  Holland. 
Miss  May  Holland. 
Mr.  VV.  Baker. 
Mr.  C.  T.  Helmsley. 
Mr.  W.  Denman. 
Mr.  W.  Graham. 
Mr.  H.  Kemble  Barnet. 


Irving. 

Mr.  G.  Alexander. 
Mr.  H.  Howe. 
Mr.  T.  Mead. 
Mr.  T.  Wen  man. 
Mr.  F.  Tyars. 
Mr.  N.  Forbes. 
Mr.  S.  Johnson. 
Mr.  C.  Harbury. 
Mr.  Fuller  Mellish,. 
Mr.  J.  Carter. 
Mr.  J.  Archer. 
Mr.  H.  Louth er. 
Mr.  J.  Benn. 
Mr.  M.  Harvey. 
Mr.  E.  G.  Craig. 
Mr.  W.  Marion. 
Mr.  J.  H.  Allen. 


NOTE. 

Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry,  making  their  first  voyage  from 
England  to  America,  sailed  from  Liverpool,  October  nth, 
1883,  and  arrived  at  New-York,  October  21st.  The  Lyceum 
Company  came  over  aboard  the  City  of  Rome,  arriving 
October  19th.  At  the  close  of  their  first  American  tour,  Mr. 
Irving  and  Miss  Terry  sailed  from  New- York  for  Liverpool 
aboard  the  Aurania,  May  2d,  1884.  The  Lyceum  Company 
sailed,  April  29th,  aboard  the  City  of  Chester.  Mr.  Irving 
and  his  entire  company  made  their  second  voyage  to  Amer- 
ica aboard  the  Parisian,  leaving  Liverpool  on  September 
18th,  1884,  and  landing  at  Quebec  on  September  28th.  Mr. 
Irving's  fourth  and  farewell  engagement  in  New- York  was 
played  at  the  Star  Theatre,  beginning  on  March  9th,  1885, 
with  "  Eugene  Aram,"  and  ending  on  April  4th,  with 
"  Charles  I."  The  only  new  feature  of  it  was  the  presentation 
of  "  Eugene  Aram,"  which  Mr.  Irving  had  already  given, 
January  14th,  1885,  for  the  first  time  in  America,  at  Chicago, 
where  also,  January  20th,  he  first  produced  "  Richelieu  "  to 
an  American  audience.  This  record  is  complete  when  it 
shall  be  added  that  Mr.  Irving  and  Miss  Terry  sailed  from 
New- York  for  Liverpool,  April  7th,  1885,  aboard  the  Ari- 
zona, and  that  the  Lyceum  Company  sailed,  April  9th,  aboard 
the  City  of  Chicago. 


123 


PRESS   OF    THEO.    L.    DE   VINNE    &    CO.,    NEW-YORK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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